Harry James Watson Book One
by S.T. Jackson
Summary: After nearly being killed by the villainous James Moriarty, Harry meets Sherlock Holmes and John Watson; two peculiar men who take him in after he's left without a family. What happens when a letter with emerald writing shows up at their door?
1. The Bomber's Victim

Sherlock Holmes was an extraordinary man. He could read the story of a man by the smallest details on their person. He memorized and categorized every single type of ash and he is known at Scotland Yard as the cleverest detective in known history. Yet he could not see the little boy with the scar on his forehead crying when the bomb squad had finally removed the explosives from his chest.

John Watson was an extraordinary man. He served as an army doctor in Afghanistan and after receiving a bullet wound and returning to London, he became the foil to the brilliant Sherlock Holmes. John may not have always been the most intelligent man but, as a doctor, he could see whenever someone was hurting. In this case, the poor boy that'd lost all of his family due to Moriarty's schemes. He was collateral damage. John gave a quick glance to Sherlock, who studied the bombs the police were handling delicately.

"Erm, Sherlock? You see that boy there?" John said, nudging his companion. Sherlock turned and studied the boy.

"Yes. Obviously traumatized due to the bomb situation but not just that… interesting," Sherlock murmured. He stalked towards the miserable boy. Harry looked up at Sherlock.

"You're shaken, but not by the bomb that was strapped to your chest. Something else has happened, but what?" Sherlock said to himself. John huffed and brushed past him.

"Hello. I'm John Watson. What's your name?"

"H-Harry."

"It's nice to meet you, Harry. Do you know how you got here?" John asked kindly, shaking Harry's hand.

"Some men got into my cupb-I mean, my room, and dragged me here. They placed that bomb on me and told me to read w-what was on the screen or they'd blow me up. I don't know where Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia are. Do you know them?" Harry said, looking around frightfully. Sherlock frowned and leaned towards Harry.

"Oh yes, we know your Aunt and Uncle. They told us to come get you and bring you home, okay?" said Sherlock, obviously lying.

Harry sharply inhaled but then sank his shoulders in resignation, " 'Kay."

"Interesting. Normally a little boy would want to be with his family after undergoing such a traumatic event, yet you seemed rather calm when you explained the ordeal. However, you tensed up when we mentioned you returning to your house. Ah! I see. Come along, John. Let's go get Harry's family arrested.

"What?" John asked, sharply turning his head at Sherlock.

"There are signs of abuse on his arms and legs. Bruises and marks he subconsciously tries to cover. His glasses have been taped four- no wait, five times in the past six months. He'd also rather face a bomb than his uncle, which says rather a lot. Come on John, even you must see this."

"I- I suppose. But there has to be more evidence right? I mean, sure there's some marks but it'll take more than that to-"

"Oh please, we'll do much better than marks John. Garth!" Sherlock shouted, waving to Lestrade.

"My name is Greg, Sherlock. What do you want? Has this 'Moriarty' sent you another message?" Lestrade said, putting air quotes around the word, "Moriarty".

"No, this is something a little bit different. Harry here is in a bit more trouble than we originally thought," Sherlock explained, waving for Harry to come forward. He meekly approached and waved at the inspector.

"He's the kid who had bombs strapped to his chest, right? What else happened?"

"He has clear signs of abuse on him and I'd like to follow up on that, if you don't mind," Sherlock said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Lestrade took a closer look.

"Those marks on his wrists, right? I mean, that could be the case but…" Sherlock made an angry noise.

"Yes obviously that but _observe_! Look at him and deduct. You're mildly more intelligent than most of the Yard. Think!" Greg gave John a curious glance and in turn, John nodded towards Harry who looked miserable.

"Well, those glasses look pretty worn and snapped in half quite a few times at least. I suppose the clothes also seem worn and definitely too large for him. This could lead to something, Sherlock. I suppose we should head to Mr. Potter's home then?" Greg suggested. Sherlock huffed in frustration.

"Terribly glad you could work that out, Lestrade. You go on ahead, John and I'll follow in a cab," Sherlock motioned to the nearby police car. Without another word, Sherlock turned on his heel and marched to the nearby street to flag a cab. John gently squeezed Harry's shoulder.

"Go on then. We're here to help," Harry nodded silently, wiping his heads. His face had gone red from embarrassment.

Harry truly was embarrassed but, he was also flustered, scared, and a range of emotions in the same caliber. Over the past nine years, his family had picked on him and he didn't really have anyone he could call a friend. Ever since he could remember, he'd tried his best to gain the love of his aunt and uncle to no avail. This was the year he'd finally given up trying. Go figure it'd be the same time someone actually paid him any attention. Harry had been frightened of the bombs but he preferred them to any more starvation and neglect. No more cupboards.

The ride to Private Drive was long, tense, and quite. Harry could feel Lestrade's eyes burning into him through the rearview mirror. Harry stared at the back of the passenger seat, hoping he'd finally be free from the Dursleys.

Sherlock stepped out of the cab in front of the pristine looking house. It seemed that small nook of Britain was absolutely perfect. After years of fighting on the battlefield of civilians, police and criminals, Sherlock knew something had to be wrong. There was a crack in the walls of the city and Sherlock was about to break it open.

Vernon Dursley believed himself to be a rather upstanding citizen. He obeyed the laws and respected his betters. He was ambitious and worked for everything he owned. He was very proud of his accomplishments, which included raising a fine son and marrying a lovely woman. Unfortunately, he was also faced with a nasty scar on his life. This scar went by the name of Harry James Potter.

The stupid boy was problematic from the beginning. Poor Petunia was weighed down by her freakish sister but was finally able to break free from that weirdness when she left home. They pretended Petunia's sister didn't exist until she'd gotten herself killed and dumped her freak of a boy on their pristine and perfect doorstep. Vernon worked day and night to try and cover that glaring blemish and for nine years, he'd successfully done so. That night however, a great flood called Sherlock Holmes was about to wash away all he'd worked for in a swift and cold wave.

 _Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Vernon opened the door to Sherlock Holmes. Before he could utter a single word, Sherlock sniffed irritably.

"You must be Vernon Dursley. Harry's told me a bit about you," Sherlock sneered. Vernon frowned and turned a dark red.

"W-whatever that fre- boy has told you, I can guarantee he's lying! That nasty boy is nothing but trouble, I tell you!" Vernon wagged his finger in Sherlock's face. Sherlock grinned devilishly.

"Well, that answers a bit. Harry has told me nothing about you, as he was too afraid to. Judging by your overreaction and you only calling him 'boy' and not 'Harry' says that you have virtually no emotional attachment of feelings of sentiment. You should really watch where you aim your fists next time. Well, actually there won't be a next time. Lestrade?" Greg appeared in the doorway next to Sherlock with furious scowl on his face.

"Who in the bloody hell are you?" Vernon demanded.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, the best and only consulting detective in the world. This is Gavin-"

" _Greg_ "

"Right… Greg Lestrade, a detective inspector of Scotland Yard. He's here to send you to prison," Sherlock sneered. Vernon's face changed from purple to white so fast, one might have thought he was a chameleon trying to blend in with the snow.

"Y-you have no proof of these claims, Detective Holmes! You cannot just-"

"Watch me," Greg growled, holding up a warrant they'd gotten before they arrived, "Hands over your head and face the wall, _now!_ "

Sherlock brushed past them and glanced around the entry hall until he saw the cupboard under the stairs. A normal looking cupboard except one thing, it had two locks. There was the normal door handle lock like most doors except this one also had a chain lock. He drifted towards it slowly, his mind racing. No… they couldn't…

"Sherlock, what're you- oh no," Greg stopped, turning pale.

"Oh yes, Lestrade," Sherlock muttered, opening the door.

"You mean this bastard-"

"I'm afraid so," Sherlock said. He peered inside the small cupboard and saw a mattress that looked old and moldy. There was a single lightbulb on a string dangling from the ceiling and Sherlock could count only six different articles of clothing, counting a pair of socks as two.

"Vernon Dursley, you're hereby charged with neglect, child abuse, and whatever else we can stack on that, you bloody disgrace of a human being," Greg snarled, clicking the handcuffs around Vernon's wrists.

"Excellent work, Lestrade. Let's go see about young Harry," Sherlock said, striding out the door.

John was sitting against the car next to Harry and patting his back soothingly. As the men approached, he held a finger to his lips and lightly shushed them before they could say anything that would wake Harry up.

"What happened?" Lestrade whispered watching Harry curiously.

"Well I imagine he fell asleep due to exhaustion. He's had an extremely straining day, especially for a child. We were sitting here and talking about his time here when he dozed off," John said, nodding to Harry.

"Well, I think we're gonna need to get him back to the station to talk with him tomorrow. Do you think you could take him tonight?" Lestrade asked. John nodded and Sherlock huffed.

"Fine. I suppose we could shelter him for night. Let's go, John," Sherlock said, hailing a nearby cab. John picked Harry up gently as to not wake him. Lestrade watched their cab speed away and then turned to Vernon who looked like he was trying very hard to swallow a lemon whole. He face was a dark plum color and he kept muttering under his breath about the freak.

"Alright, let's go, filth."

The next morning, Harry woke up in bed that definitely was not his mattress in his cupboard. Sunlight shined through an unfamiliar window. Harry vaguely remembered dreaming of mad bombers and detectives with long coats. Suddenly, the long-coated man entered the room, looking suspicious of Harry. Harry realized with a start that it was no dream.

"You're the man who arrested my uncle," Harry stated as if trying to convince himself.

"That is somewhat correct. Lestrade made the arrest, I just pointed him out for Scotland Yard," Sherlock replied nonchalantly as if his daily routine involved assisting in the arrest people's relatives.

"And you saved me from being blown up?" Harry asked. He put a hand over his chest where deadly explosives had been the day before. Sherlock nodded quietly. Harry's surroundings suddenly felt surreal, as if he were still asleep. Almost as if responding, he pinched his arm lightly, definitely not a dream.

"Thanks," Harry muttered awkwardly, his cheeks turning a light shade pink. Sherlock nodded. He stared into Harry's eyes, unblinking and intense. Harry wanted to look away from this peculiar man but something drew him in like an invisible fishing line. Sherlock broke the charged silence that had fallen between them.

"Erm… Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, has made some breakfast for us if you wish to join us. After breakfast, Lestrade wants you to come down to the station for the case," Sherlock said, quickly disappearing from the doorway. Harry slowly pulled the warm sheets off of him and noticed a freshly washed set of clothes at the end of his bed. They were a little tight, but a big improvement over the old and worn rags handed down from Dudley, his whale of a cousin. Harry glanced at himself in the mirror and smiled a little. Maybe he wouldn't have to live with the Dursleys after all this was over.


	2. Court Dates and Domestic Bliss

The first thing Harry noticed when he walked down to the kitchen from the room he'd woken up in was the large amount of chemistry equipment. The dusty glass vials and flasks shined in the sunlight. Dust filtered through the musty-looking curtains.

Sherlock and John were eating quickly but politely without so much as taking a break to talk or even breathe. It seemed to Harry like they weren't so much enjoying their food and just trying to get the deed over with. He thought that was rather queer as the food itself looked delicious. He sat himself down at the table and served himself some a small portion of eggs and toast.

"You're allowed to eat more than that, you know," Sherlock said, setting down his fork and knife. Harry blushed a little and nodded, taking a bit more than he was used to.

"So Harry, how did you sleep?" John asked, sipping his tea.

"Good, I suppose. I honestly thought last night was all a dream until you came into the room," Harry said, pointing to Sherlock. He nodded.

"Yes, trauma does tend to do that sometimes. Not to worry though, your relatives' court case is almost one hundred percent going to end with jail-time," Sherlock said. Harry didn't know how to feel on this.

On one hand, he knew Vernon, and to a lesser extent Petunia, deserved prison for their harsh treatment of him and if Harry never saw them again, it'd be too soon. They hated him and he hated them back. However, he knew what it was like to not be with your actual family and no matter how much he disliked Dudley; he didn't want anyone to go through that.

"Obviously by your expression, you're conflicted. Understandable but, don't let that affect your testimony," Sherlock said harshly. John swatted his arm.

"Sherlock! I'm sorry for him, he tends to be a bit blunt. I know it's hard to see that happen to family but you should think about yourself, too," John said kindly, squeezing Harry's shoulder.

"Yeah. Thanks," Harry replied, staring at Sherlock who looked at him with curiosity.

"All done? Let's head to the station. Come on, Harry," John said, standing up stiffly. Harry noticed.

"Are you okay?"

"What? Oh yeah, I just have a few problems with my body. I used to be a soldier, after all," John explained.

The car ride felt just like the one the previous night with Lestrade: tense and long. Harry shifted uncomfortably in the cab. He drummed his fingers against his thigh, looked out his window, and tried to make small talk with Sherlock, who ignored him.

Harry wasn't the only one mentally preoccupied. Sherlock was going through the case over and over again. As much as he cherished being able to put away Vernon Dursley, he still had a larger case. Moriarty wasn't finished with him yet. Sure, he had been able to solve all of the little games Moriarty had provided him but there was something _off_. If he acted as Sherlock thought, he wouldn't just play this little game and then disappear again. Something was going to happen, but Sherlock would just have to wait and see what it is.

Finally, they arrived at the police station. Lestrade was outside, smoking a cigarette. He looked very tired and gripped onto the fag like it was the only thing keeping him from passing out.

"Long night for Lestrade. After he arrested your uncle, he went after your aunt and cousin as well. What a little hound dog he is," Sherlock whispered to Harry how laughed a little.

"Sherlock, John," Lestrade greeted, dropping the cigarette to the ground and smearing it with his shoe. Sherlock sniffed and scowled.

"Low tar, dull," He muttered to himself. Harry looked questioningly at the mashed cigarette. John looked hardly fazed at the small deduction. The four of them headed into the station. Officers rushed around, either hauling criminals to jail cells or bringing paperwork to various offices and people. People kept out of the way, however, when they moved through the building with Lestrade in the lead.

Finally, they arrived at Lestrade's office. It was bright with big windows facing the street. It's simplistic design held a long wooden desk with a nameplate facing them that read " _Detective Inspector Lestrade_ ". Two leather armchairs faced the desk for visitors. John and Harry took a seat while Sherlock neatly tucked himself in the right corner to observe.

"I suppose we'll get right to it then," Lestrade said, pulling out a notebook and a pen, "What's your name?"

"Harry Potter," Harry replied.

"Can you describe your aunt and uncle's treatment of you?"

"They would usually ignore me unless I made them angry one way or another. If I got better grades than Dudley or if I got positive attention from anyone they'd find a way to stamp it out. They'd let Dudley and his friends beat me up if they could catch me and sometimes they wouldn't let me eat," Harry stated without almost any emotion. He seemed prepared for this as if expecting it for a long time. This told Sherlock the abuse has been going on for quite awhile. John took notice too while Lestrade scribbled furiously on the notepad.

"Can you tell me a few times when they'd done these things?" Lestrade asked.

"Well, when I was seven, Aunt Petunia had tried to cut off all of my hair except for my bangs to cover my scar. I looked really silly and I felt so embarrassed that night but when I woke up in the morning, my hair was back. I was put in the cupboard for a week with only a little bit of food," Harry said, absentmindedly feeling his hair as if he wanted to make sure it was still there. The three adults were surprised. Sherlock seemed a little more collected than the other two but was nonetheless curious.

"Skipping the strangeness of re-growing your hair in one night, that's definitely something that'll help with the court case," Lestrade stated awkwardly. John nodded and all Sherlock think about was how in the hell Harry would've been able to regrow his hair in a day.

The rest of the morning was more of the same. Lestrade would ask Harry questions and Harry would reply with something strange that happened whenever he felt a strong emotion and then get punished for it.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say Harry was magical or something," John said to Sherlock later that day. Harry hadn't left with them since the social worker had come to get Harry started in the adoption program. John and Sherlock sat at Baker Street still wondering about the strange boy they had met.

"I think we should try to adopt," Sherlock said abruptly, surprising John.

"Adoption? Never really thought of it before. Why the sudden urge to get a kid?" John asked.

"Not just any child, Watson! Harry! He's such an interesting case-I mean, boy! He wasn't lying or even exaggerating the stories he told, either,"

"I guess. But why adopt him?"

"I'm bored. Moriarty has been silent and there is no criminal activity to investigate," Sherlock said tiredly. He glared out the window as if the moderately nice day was a curse.

"I suppose he'll keep you from your bad habits and it might do me some good to have someone help handle the weight of your ego," snorted John. Sherlock barely paid attention to him. His mind was set. Harry Potter would become the next Holmes.

 _Seven months later: July 21_ _st_

"I must say, brother mine, you really have done the one thing I never expected; raising a child. How is it by the way? I imagine a lot of work," Mycroft Holmes said, puffing on a cigarette. Sherlock shrugged.

"I have finally figured out a way end boredom when the fit hits me," Sherlock replied.

"Ah, so very well then. And how is John? I would think he'd be happy to raise a child," Mycroft asked.

"He enjoys the emotional companionship that I refuse to give," Sherlock said. Mycroft chuckled, "I suppose a thank you is in order."

"Oh?"

"Don't act surprised, Mycroft. I knew you pulled some strings in order to help us adopt Harry," Sherlock said.

"Yes, I admit I may have pulled a few strings-"

"Why?"

"Because I care for you greatly," Mycroft said, totally serious. Sherlock snorted and walked back into Baker Street to avoid the smell of tobacco. It was driving him mad with want.

Harry was happily eating breakfast when Sherlock entered the kitchen and sat down across from him. This was per usual in the mornings. Sherlock would study Harry with intensity and Harry would stare back. Sherlock had noticed some potential in observation but he was still too naïve to read the signs.

All the while, Moriarty was silent. This troubled Holmes deeply. Every day, Sherlock's attention was either pointed towards Moriarty or towards Harry. Seven months had gone by and Sherlock was still fascinated by the boy. Occasionally, when Harry felt a strong emotion, mostly happiness, very peculiar things would happen.

After a month of settling in at Baker Street, Harry met Mrs. Hudson, who was the kindest person he'd ever met. At the end of the visit, Harry gave her a hug and suddenly, she felt her hip pop back into place like it was brand new. She was so shocked that she couldn't say anything. Of course, Sherlock couldn't prove anything but guessed it was linked directly to Harry's emotions.

Sherlock had definitely grown attached to the boy. In Mycroft's words, he got a new, flashy goldfish. Of course, Harry was so much more to both Sherlock and John than just a project. Sherlock saw him as a protégé of sorts and John saw him as the son he would never have.

Harry adjusted rather easily to Sherlock's eccentric mannerisms and John's caring nature. He seemed to bring the best out of both of them and in turn; they caused Harry to feel reinvigorated with life. It was sad at first, seeing such a downtrodden, unhappy lad but, with the two working to actually keep Harry, he felt an instant connection. Mrs. Hudson felt sorry for Harry and volunteered another room for next to nothing for Harry's use.

Harry's life seemed very mellow and sometimes odd on occasions. However, Sherlock and John saw another side to him that had been previously hidden from them. This veil was removed when he testified against Petunia and Vernon Dursley. Even the judge was surprised at the cool and calculating nature of the boy.

"What is your full name, young man?" The prosecutor asked.

"Harry James Potter," Harry replied without much emotion.

"Can you tell the jury what has been happening to you over the past nine years?"

"Of course. These two have been abusing me, obviously. If you'll look at the evidence we provided, you'll see very clearly these two are not fit to raise me. They allowed their son, Dudley, to endlessly beat me when they weren't doing it themselves. Not to mention the fact that they put a mattress inside their cupboard and said I should be grateful for that. They also starved me. I think the longest I went without a meal was about six days," He stated coldly. Both Petunia and Vernon went completely pale and their defense attorney looked uncertain like he shouldn't be defending these two.

'Not a very good defense, bad news for them,' Harry thought happily. The case was very quick as the only things Vernon and Petunia managed to get across was that they thought their nephew was a freak and they were completely justified. Harry was surprised how easy they went down considering. He guessed their hate for him was greater than their own sense of self-preservation. The jury was immediately able to come to a verdict: guilty on all accounts.

After the trial, the three joined Lestrade and a few others in celebrations back at Baker Street. Some would question the morality of celebrating putting people in prison but none of the participants could care in the least about the two monsters they'd put behind bars.

"Congratulations are in order Lestrade. You didn't even ask for my help in gathering evidence," Sherlock said, shaking Greg's hand. He smirked.

"You were the one who picked up on it, not to mention 'stone cold' Harry here who surprised everyone! Seriously, lad where did that come from?" Lestrade laughed. Harry shrugged.

"I'm not too sure myself. I just knew the facts and made sure nothing was exaggerated," Harry said, abashed at the attention.

"Blimey, six days without food? Those piss-pots deserve everything that's coming to them," Lestrade growled. Sherlock nodded.

"Well then, excellent work everyone! This isn't just a celebration for putting those animals away, but also to finally welcome Harry into our strange little family!" John said, raising his glass. Everyone cheered and raised their glasses as well. Harry blushed a bright red and raised his glass back to them.


	3. Boredom Alleviated

Harry sighed and drummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair that was usually reserved for Sherlock when he dealt with clients. He stared across the room at a smiley face crudely spray-painted on the wall. Harry was bored out of his mind and alone at Baker Street. Of course, he could go out and do something but he didn't really feel like trying to make friends that day. John and Sherlock were in bloody Baskerville about some hound that in all reality, Harry bet was just a hoax or something that'd be explained away rather easily.

As someone who was taught mostly by Sherlock Holmes, Harry would sometimes subconsciously mimic him. This included his unfortunate habit of boredom that would spring upon him like a tiger on its prey. Fortunately, that boredom was about to be alleviated by a knock at the door. Harry raised an eyebrow. It was a client going by the knocks. Lestrade and Mycroft always entered without knocking and Mrs. Hudson knocked twice with a little ' _ooh hoo!_ ' as her signature.

"Come in," Harry said, his voice teeming with apathy. A portly individual stepped into the room and looked around. He finally settled on Harry and looked quite abashed.

"Terribly sorry, young man! I was looking for a Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the man said, taking a step back. Harry suddenly sat up.

"He's away right now but he's put me in charge of cases until he returns."

"You?"

"Yes, me. Is there a problem, sir?" Harry asked. He would do almost anything to exorcise the terrible fit of boredom from his mind.

"You seem a bit young, are you sure?" the man said nervously. Harry looked him up and down and after a minute of observing, he smirked.

"Your pale face and shaking hands indicate that you've recently gone through a mildly traumatic event, possibly to do with this case? You're obviously right handed and I recognize that you work mostly indoors going by your clothes and shoes. Due to wrinkles on your face, you usually sleep on your right side but, last night you slept on your left. You still have a strong perfume smell so I can only guess affair. How much did I get correct?" Harry asked innocently. The men went a little red and started to stutter. Sherlock would be proud.

"I-I well… see here young man-"

"Oh don't worry sir, your secrets are safe with me. It's not my concern. However I am very curious as to what has startled you past my own abilities. Take a seat and lets here out your problem," Harry said, gesturing to the couch across from him. The man sat fairly quickly, still shaken.

"It all began a day ago…"

Two Weeks Later

Harry sat down in the chair Sherlock was using and counted a thick wad of pounds. He smiled at the few cases that had come around since Sherlock and John had been gone. They wouldn't believe it! Sherlock would obviously scoff at the fact that he charged for his services but John probably would be proud. He'd even written down the accounts as best as he could for John so he could publish them on his blog. Some kids wanted their art on the fridge; Harry wanted his written accounts of solving crimes on his father's blog.

He heard the door open downstairs but heard no footsteps. Perhaps he just didn't hear them? No, he wasn't that ignorant. Harry crept to the stairwell and glanced down. All he saw was a letter. It had emerald writing and after a quick read, apparently addressed to him. Not only was it addressed to him, but to his very room in the apartment. Harry's mind raced.

He scanned the contents of the letter and scowled. Initially, he had thought it might be a prank. But who would bother? He didn't have any close friends that came to mind and Sherlock and John were otherwise preoccupied in another city. So, who was trying to contact him?

It was a few hours later when the sun had gone down and Mrs. Hudson had brought up Harry's dinner. She found him lying at the foot of the couch with his legs kicked up straight. His eyes were closed and his fingers drummed absentmindedly.

"Got your dinner here, luv," Mrs. Hudson called to him, setting down the food. Harry's eyes snapped open and he quickly turned to look at Mrs. Hudson.

"Thank you, dear Mrs. Hudson! Tell me, do you know anything about a place called Hogwarts?"

"Hog what?"

"Oh nothing. Just peculiar things happening at Baker Street," Harry murmured to himself. Mrs. Hudson smiled and patted his shoulder.

"Oh don't you worry, dear. I'm sure you'll figure out whatever you're so up about! Sherlock's the same way on a case," Mrs. Hudson reassured him. Harry sighed and began his dinner. He wouldn't get anywhere on an empty stomach.

A week later, Sherlock and John had returned. They hadn't asked much into what Harry did although they did talk to him about his cases. John was proud of him making his own money and Sherlock was impressed with the speed and skill in which Harry handled the cases. They seemed to not notice the letter Harry had, though.

Harry was studying his letter when he heard a familiar creak of the downstairs door. Harry immediately went to the stairwell but once again, no one was there. This time, two letters lay on the mat in front of the door. Harry snatched the two letters up and frowned. Harry decided it was time to be a bit proactive. He deduced that if the mysterious Hogwarts administration was delivering mail to him once a week, he could write a note himself to give to them. The next week, Harry taped the note he had written to the front door

 _If magical, come inside. If nonmagical, go away._

Just like the previous two times, the door creaked and closed. Harry approached the stairwell, mouth open to begin speaking when suddenly, he growled. There was no one there. It was just the same letter, however this time; there were ten copies of it. Harry briefly thought about a much more productive use of the letters: kindling.

Another week passed and Harry decided he would try a different method of determining who was delivering these mysterious letters. So, Harry woke up early on the day the letters were expected and sat on the steps up to 221 B Bakerstreet. Harry anxiously checked his watch and looked up and down the street for any sort of oddity. Nothing. By noon, Harry was more frustrated than ever. He was so angry that in his hurry to get back inside, he nearly tripped over the small mountain of letters piled up on his door.

"Bloody Hell!" he shouted. Suddenly Sherlock appeared in the doorway, yawning.

"Language Har-" he began before seeing the letters. During the month, neither Sherlock nor John noticed the small amount of letters that appeared at the door. Harry supposed that if magic was real, then the likelihood was that these wizards and witches were trying to block nonmagical people from seeing them. However, he guessed the massive amount of letters and the obvious pile was enough for Sherlock to see them.

"And just what is this?" Sherlock asked, snatching a letter from the floor.

"Apparently, I'm magic," Harry said simply. Sherlock glanced at the letter and then back at Harry.

"I suppose this does make a bit of sense," Sherlock muttered, reading through the letter more thoroughly.

"You're just going to take this at face value? No questions or anything?" Harry said, shocked how calm Sherlock was at the possibilities of magic existing.

"Until we get more data, I suppose I am," Sherlock murmured, sticking the letter in his pocket. Harry gaped at him then sighed resignedly.

"I suppose we'll have to," Harry conceded.

Another two weeks had passed and the letters really piled up. John had taken notice as well and since they had no more information, took Harry's idea to reality and started using the letters as kindling.

On the eve of the day before Harry's birthday, Lestrade, Molly Hooper, and Mrs. Hudson all joined John, Sherlock and Harry in celebrating. Mrs. Hudson had baked a large birthday cake that was appreciated by everyone, including Sherlock. Harry received quite a few gifts from everyone.

John had given him a leatherbound journal and a nice fountain pen. From Sherlock, Harry received a basic chemistry kit and a pocket spyglass, not unlike the one he himself owned. Molly gave him a scarf that closely resembled Sherlock's. Finally, Lestrade gave him a set of detective novels that Sherlock scowled at and Harry loved.

After everyone had left, Harry, John and Sherlock settled in for the night. Harry stayed up until midnight, counting down the minutes until he was officially eleven. Suddenly, at eleven fifty nine, he heard a booming sound coming from the door. Harry immediately rushed to the door and swung it open to reveal a massive, hulking man with a large pink umbrella in his hands.

"Hello! You must be 'arry!" the man exclaimed. Harry couldn't help but try and open and close his mouth in shock. Suddenly, John and Sherlock thundered downstairs and stopped as soon as they saw the large man. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Oh dear, it's about time," Sherlock said, unimpressed. Hagrid turned to him suspiciously.

"What do ye mean?" Hagrid asked.

"I mean," Sherlock paused, "that it's about time someone from the school came to talk to us!"

"Er… yeah. I mean, I'm here from Professor Dumbledore ter help Harry get his school things," he explained awkwardly. Sherlock smirked.

"Oh wonderful! Would you mind terribly if we accompanied you in this venture? We are his guardians after all."

"Erm, of course! Mr?"

"Sherlock Holmes, at your service. My silent companion here is John Watson," Sherlock said, gesturing to John. John stood open-mouthed at the hulking man. He shook his head and stuck out a hand.

"Yeah, hi, nice to meet you,John said, shaking the giant man's hand.

"I'm Hagrid. I'm the groundskeeper and keeper of keys at Hogwarts," Hagrid explained. Sherlock nodded.

"Do tell us more about this Hogwarts," Sherlock said.

"Blimey, did the Dursleys explain nothin'?" Hagrid asked, surprised.

"Explain? Explain what?" John asked.

"Well, Harry's parents were thumpin' good wizards when I knew 'em. After they had Harry, a dark, evil wizard came a-knockin' and James n' Lily was killed. Before that though, they learned at school of witchcraft and wizardry. That'd be Hogwarts," Hagrid explained. Sherlock nodded.

"I see. And it appears that Harry has been blessed with these abilities as well," Sherlock stated.

"It would make all those strange things that happened around him more explainable," John snickered, remembering the strangeness that surrounded Harry. Sherlock nodded in agreement. Harry yawned and John squeezed his shoulder.

"Why don't you stay the night, Mr. Hagrid. We can talk about this in the morning," John said. Hagrid nodded.

"O' course, o' course."

The next day, all four were dressed and ready for the day. Sherlock looked positively ecstatic while John and Harry were more curious than anything.

"I surpose we'll be off, then," Hagrid said, gesturing for them to follow. Many passersby gaped at the massive man walking with the detective, the soldier, and Harry. It was very strange as most of the time, people were staring at Sherlock. He had a tendency to completely fill a room by himself. Hagrid, on the other hand, quite literally filled a room.

"Here we are, The Leaky Cauldron," Hagrid said, stopping in front of a very grubby looking bar that even Sherlock had a hard time pointing out.

"How very interesting. Obviously it's some sort of mind trick to keep us nonmagical people out," Sherlock said, rubbing the wooden doorframe with a gloved hand.

"Yeah, but we call 'em muggles, mind you," Hagrid replied. He pushed open the door. Many greeted and waved to Hagrid. John and Sherlock stood on both sides of their son. They didn't want him having to deal with the many 'fans' as Hagrid had warned. Hagrid led them to a back courtyard where a few rubbish bins were and a very tall brick wall.

"Three up, two across…" Hagrid muttered to himself. He took out am umbrella large enough for a table and tapped the bricks. The wall started shifting and opening to reveal a long alley filled with wizards and witches.

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson, Harry, welcome to Diagon Alley," Hagrid said.

John gaped and Harry smiled. Sherlock looked like a kid in a candy shop. One might think Sherlock was even more excited at the prospect of magic than Harry was.


	4. Diagon Alley

The first stop the quartet made was at Gringotts, the wizarding bank. After a very brief conversation with the teller where Sherlock accidentally insulted the goblin by calling him "subhuman", (This, of course, wasn't an insult but more of an observation of the goblin's characteristics as appearing partially human) they arrived at Harry's vault. Before them was a twenty foot high circular door with no distinct handle or lock.

"How exactly are we going to get in?" John asked.

"The only way inta the vaults are through the goblins. See?" Hagrid replied as the goblin designated "griphook" slid his finger down the door. The metal door melted away until there was nothing left but a hole in the wall. Inside said hole was a large room with many stacks of gold coins, shimmering in the flickering torch light.

"Wow," Harry breathed. Sherlock immediately stepped into the room first, with the rest of the group right on his heels.

"You'll only need 'bout a bagful right now, Harry," Hagrid instructed, handing him a small knapsack. Harry immediately snatched up as much of the coins as the sack could hold. John stood near the entrance, trying to still catch his mind up with what his eyes were seeing. To think him and Sherlock worried about the rent!

Sherlock picked a gold coin off the top of one of the many piles and stared at it for a short time. He muttered to himself before looking at Harry.

"Would you mind terribly if I kept one of these coins? There's a few experiments I'd like to run," Sherlock said. Harry shrugged.

"I think I've got enough here for you to take one," he said.

"Shall we go now?" Griphook asked. The trio and Hagrid nodded and headed back out the gates. After stopping by another vault with a slightly less interesting package, at least in John's opinion, the four headed back to the surface.

"Where to next, Mr. Hagrid?" Harry asked, eyeing the pocket where the hidden package was held. Sherlock also had been glancing at it before John elbowed him and warned him not to pickpocket their tour guide. With resignation Sherlock agreed to leave it be.

"I suppose we'll visit Madame Malkin's robe shop next," he replied.

"Lead the way," Sherlock said, gesturing on.

Harry walked next to Hagrid while Sherlock and John followed behind them.

"Bit of an odd fellow, that Mr. Holmes," Hagrid remarked to Harry. Harry nodded.

"Yes he's got his quirks, but I think that's what makes him a great man," Harry said. Hagrid nodded his head in agreement.

"Here we are," Hagrid said. Stepping inside, Harry saw a pale blond boy with a pointed nose and pale eyes standing on a stool. A woman with greying hair and olive skin observed a measuring strip swarming the boy, taking measurements from odd places like his knee to his armpit and from his left shoulder to his right thumb. She turned and greeted them. With a snap of her fingers, another stool flew from a back door next to the boy.

"Step up and we'll get you fitted quickly. First year, right? Yes we'll get you sorted," the woman said, snapping her fingers again. This time, a second measuring tape flew from the back room, poised like a cobra ready to strike. Harry stepped up and immediately the measuring tape went to work.

While the tape snaked its way around his body, the other boy glanced at him.

"Hogwarts as well?" the boy asked uninterestedly

"The woman did happen to say that when I entered," Harry remarked with a tone of sarcasm. The boy nodded, ignoring his tone.

"Me as well. Do you have any idea what house you might be in?" he said. Harry shrugged.

"I'm pretty new to magic so I've not got the slightest as to what you're talking about," Harry replied. Draco's face scrunched up a bit.

"Muggleborn are you—"

"No."

"Then why—"

"Orphaned, got sent to the muggle world," Harry said.

"I am so sorry." The boy sounded sincere.

"Why? What's your problem with muggles?" Harry asked.

"They're beneath us of course! They use swords and other primitive weapons to maim and kill and—"

"Muggles don't use swords, they use guns," Harry said. The boy looked confused.

"What's a gun?"

Suddenly, Madame Malkin stepped in and told the boy he was done. He hopped off the stool and held his hand out. Harry shook it reservedly.

"My name's Draco Malfoy by the way. I'll see you at school," with that, Draco joined a couple waiting outside who looked very similar to him.

"What an interesting boy, other than his blatant racism, of course," John joked. Sherlock looked surprised.

"Sorry, wasn't really paying attention. What did the boy say?" John rolled his eyes and Harry smiled.

"Nothing of real importance, just conversation," he said. Sherlock rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"How pedestrian."

The next stop was the apothecary, which Harry could tell Sherlock was excited for. He swept into the shop, his cloak billowing behind him. Sherlock bolted for the first barrel of ingredients, fish eyes. He sniffed them and picked one up to observe closer.

"Find anything interesting?" Harry asked. Sherlock shook his head.

"The state of these ingredients are appalling! Fish eyes just held in a barrel without any form of seal? Not to mention the rest of these ingredients which make no sense whatsoever and—"

"So you're enjoying yourself?" Harry asked, smiling cheekily.

"Immensely."

John looked somewhat unsure of the apothecary due to it's strange goods. Harry stood next to him, observing Sherlock run about either picking out the ingredients Harry needed or muttering angrily. Harry often wondered if Sherlock had a bit of a masochist in him considering he was happy when he probably shouldn't be.

After John, Harry and Hagrid pulled Sherlock away from the apothecary, claiming he could come back later, they all ventured down the alley until the reached the bookstore. Immediately, Sherlock bolted for the educational books, claiming he'd also pick up what Harry needed while Harry and John headed for the stories.

"Can I help you with anything?" a saleswoman asked. John nodded.

"Yes. We're muggles so we're a bit new to this. I was hoping to get my hands on a few introductory things and maybe a few good stories," John said. The saleswoman smiled brightly.

"Of course sir, follow me," she said. She led them to a bookcase to the far right and pulled two books with leather covers.

"These two are the best introductory books for muggleborns and their families."

She then had them follow her to another bookcase nearby with many brightly colored books with strange titles. The saleswoman pulled out a book with a light blue cover and handed it to John.

"This book contains a few very well known stories in our world. I personally recommend the Tale of the Three Brothers. It's my favorite," she said, winking. Harry stared at the book and mentally bookmarked that story for later.

Their last stop was the wand shop. Ollivander's had golden letters that had begun to peel. The dark wood and musty windows gave Harry a feeling of discomfort. The door creaked open and the tinkle of a bell was heard. Everyone except for Hagrid, because he was too large for the doorframe, stepped into the wand shop.

"Hello?" Harry called out. An eccentric looking man stepped from a nearby shelf, making John and Harry jump.

"Ah. I'd been wondering when you would finally come to my wand shop, Mr. Potter," the man called Ollivander said mystically.

"You know me?"

"No, of course not, dear boy. I knew your parents when they were in school. Yes, I remember selling them their first wands," Ollivander said mystically.

"Wonderful, lets get on with it," Sherlock interrupted in a bored tone. John elbowed him in the chest.

"Behave, Sherlock."

"Which is your dominant arm?" Ollivander asked.

"Well, I write with my right so—" Harry said. Ollivander snapped his fingers.

Immediately, a measuring tape much like the one that Madame Malkin had sprung to life. However, while the measurements at the robe shop seemed a bit odd, the measurements this tape was taking were physically impossible. John and Sherlock could only look on in confusion and intrigue as the measuring tape somehow managed to wriggle its way into one ear and out the other. After a few more minutes of this peculiar activity, Ollivander snapped his fingers once more. The tape, which had wrapped around Harry's right wrist exactly thirty seven times, slunk off him and flew back into the depths of the shop.

"Lets see…" Ollivander murmured. He snatched a wand from the top shelf to their left.

"Unicorn hair core, birch wood," Ollivander said. Harry held it gently in his hands, waiting for something to happen.

"Give it a wave," Ollivander urged. Feeling rather silly doing this in front of John and Sherlock, Harry waved the wand a little, sending a high velocity glob of molten lava straight at John's head. Ollivander quickly waved his hand, stopping the lava a foot before it could hit John.

"Apparently not," he said disappointedly before carefully taking the wand back. So began the trial and error process of wand fitting. It had been twenty minutes and John looked tired, Sherlock looked frustrated and curious at the same time while Ollivander looked downright joyous.

"A tricky customer, eh? Not to worry Mr. Potter! We'll find you a wand, yet!"

Finally, after a few more minutes passed, Ollivander went to the very back of the store and pulled out a wand that Harry immediately perked up at.

"I wonder… Phoenix feather, Holly wood and eleven inches, Mr. Potter," Ollivander noted.

Harry took the wand and felt warmth dance across his fingers as he held it. It felt as if the wood were singing to him. With renewed confidence, Harry flicked his wand upwards. A burst of searing red flame shot out of the tip and a phoenix song echoed through the shop. Harry felt goosbumps shoot up and down his legs. Ollivander looked elated.

"How very curious," he muttered while smiling. He took the wand gingerly and placed it back in its case.

"Don't be vague man! What is so curious about this wand?" Sherlock demanded impatiently. Ollivander smiled wryly.

"Well Mr. Holmes, this wand's core is a phoenix feather. This particular phoenix gave only one other feather. It's so curious that this wand happened to choose Mr. Potter when it's brother wand gave you that scar," Ollivander said mysteriously, pointing to Harry's forehead. Harry somehow managed to feel even more unnerved by the strange man than before. They quickly left his shop after paying.

They met up with Hagrid who handed Harry a cage with a beautiful snowy owl inside it. She was asleep with her head under her wing at the moment.

"I felt a lil' bad 'bout not bein' able ter get ye any presents when you lived with them Dursleys, so I figured this beauty might make up fer it," Hagrid explained, blushing a little under his massive shaggy hair. Harry grinned brilliantly.

"Thank you so much Hagrid! She's beautiful," Harry exclaimed.

"Tis nothin'," Hagrid said bashfully.

"A very beautiful specimen indeed. Taking care of a pet is a big responsibility, Harry. I do hope you recognize it as such," Sherlock said seriously. Even John looked a little surprised at Sherlock's seriousness. Harry looked at the owl and then up at him. He nodded and smiled.

"We'll need to name you soon, girl," Harry said.

And so, Harry's first trip to Diagon Alley came to an end. Hagrid led them to the street where they called a cab. Before disappearing, Hagrid handed Harry his ticket.

"Stick to it," Hagrid warned. Harry shook his head up and down and looked down at the shiny golden ticket.

"Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" Harry asked aloud. Sherlock and John stared down at the ticket with curiosity.

The month of August was duller than any month that year, in Harry's opinion. Of course, this was the gap month between his first day at an actual magic school and pedestrian life. Every minute seemed an hour and every day seemed a week. Harry now understood fully why Sherlock always seemed so irate in between cases.

"How do you stave off this infernal boredom?" Harry moaned one day to Sherlock who was quietly reading a book.

"Drugs, mostly stimulants, but John tells me those are bad for children so I suppose you'll have to find a different way," Harry looked at him oddly before walking back to his room, shaking his head and cursing the genius.

Soon August was replaced by the bloom of September. The trio headed to the train station. Harry was ready to begin his magical education.


	5. The Subtle Art of Making Enemies

The sun was shining. Birds tweeted outside King's Cross Station and London's morning foot traffic was bustling. It was an average Sunday. Of course, walking with Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Harry Potter, it was more than just an average Sunday.

Harry Potter rolled his trolley through the station happily. On it was a trunk and on top of it a snowy owl who reflected her young owner's attitude, hooting with excitement.

Sherlock strode behind his protégé with pride and excitement, though one without a personal connection with him wouldn't be able to deduce this as a dour expression was painted across his complexion. His eyes constantly flicked about, collecting as much data as he could

John Watson, as per usual, acted as Mr. Holmes' foil. He had a small grin on his face. His posture was one of how a soldier would walk when on patrol. His back straight and his arms swinging back and forth like a metronome. He looked at his adopted son with pride.

Finally they stopped at a barrier closer to platform ten than nine. It had taken a few minutes, but Sherlock noticed people in robes walking through the apparently solid barrier.

"Clever," he muttered.

And so, after a cautious stroll through barrier 9 ¾, Sherlock, John and Harry were greeted by a scarlet steam engine. A bronze plaque on the front of the train read, _Hogwarts Express_. Harry grinned.

"Wow," John said breathlessly.

They took about ten steps into the platform before they heard a loud gasp. They turned around to see a girl Harry's age with bushy brown hair, large front teeth and deep brown eyes.

"You're Sherlock Holmes!" the girl announced. A few bystanders looked at Sherlock oddly before moving on.

"Erm… yes I am. Hello," Sherlock said, extending his hand. Hermione shook it fervently.

"My name's Hermione Granger, it is a pleasure to meet you," she said formally, regaining her composure. Her parents looked a little curious but otherwise friendly.

"I'm Dan Granger and this is my wife, Emma," Hermione's father said, shaking John and Sherlock's hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you both. It looks like you have a fan, Sherlock," John chuckled.

"I've read all your blog posts and I've visited The Science of Deduction more times than I can recall!" Hermione gushed. She then turned to Harry.

"And you must be Harry Potter! I've read all about you but until recently I had no idea you were so famous in the wizarding world!"

"It's nice to meet you, Hermione," Harry said, feeling a little off put. Sherlock had a similar look on his face.

"Erm… yes it is nice to meet you Ms. Granger," Sherlock said, finally recomposing himself. John looked as if he were trying to keep from combusting.

"Come on, Harry. Let's find a compartment," Hermione said, grabbing Harry's hand and pulling him along, leaving the Grangers, John and Sherlock to stare at the two.

"So do you do deductions like Sherlock?" Hermione asked when they found a compartment and had put away their trunks.

"Yes but—"

"Ooh! Can you do a deduction on me?" Hermione asked. Harry sighed.

"Yes, but I'm not nearly as fast as him, yet. Still a bit new at it so just be patient," Harry replied. Hermione nodded eagerly and leaned forward.

Harry looked her over critically. His eyes flickered up and down, back and forth and so on for at least five minutes. Hermione had begun to feel uncomfortable when Harry snapped his fingers.

"Your fingers appear delicate and gentle, showing you don't typically do outside work or sports. You also have a very slight indent on your right ring finger, where you've been holding a pencil. You're not athletic, by choice, as your breathing pattern appears normal which cancels out lack of physical activity due to problems like asthma. Clearly you are acclimatized to staying inside. However, you have slight bags under your eyes, signifying low adrenal energy, meaning that you are burning energy but not outside. I noticed you had a lot of books, not just our textbooks, in your bookbag, so I can tell you like books and reading. So, in conclusion, you appear to be more of an introvert than an extrovert, probably meaning you don't have too many close friends. You spend most of your time inside either doing what is likely schoolwork or reading. You even do this late at night, signifying lack of sleep and low energy," Harry concluded. There was a moment of silence, then Hermione blushed a little and nodded slightly.

"Completely right, Harry," she whispered in both embarrassment and awe. Harry grinned.

"Sherlock Holmes, eat your heart out," Harry murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"Sherlock, according to John, always gets one thing wrong but everything else perfectly right. I just beat him," Harry said with a smirk.

"Is it a competition between you two?" she asked.

"With Sherlock Holmes, everything is a competition," Harry answered.

Suddenly, a chubby boy with a round face and nervous complexion appeared at the door. His hands shook and he wiped his forehead.

"You appear concerned. School stress possibly? But no, too nervous for that so something else," Harry said. Neville nodded.

"I'm just looking for my toad. It's gone missing," Neville explained strenuously. Harry grinned.

"Another case! Let's get started," he said, walking out of the compartment. He popped his head back in, looking at Hermione who was peeking at him from over her book.

"You're welcome to come along," he chimed.

"I am?"

"Of course. John helps Sherlock all the time, and so you will help me," Harry replied, gesturing for her to follow him. She chuckled and followed the eccentric boy.

For the next thirty minutes, Hermione and Neville followed Harry up and down the train as Harry regaled them a few stories that hadn't made John's blog. Neville looked downright horrified as Harry described Sherlock's character. Hermione continued to be intrigued by the detective and the Boy-Who-Lived.

"And then Sherlock decided it was a good idea to try to use a coconut to—"

"Oh, hello," Draco Malfoy said, popping his head out of the compartment, "You were the boy at the robe shop. I didn't catch your name."

"Harry Potter," Harry replied, "So as I was saying, the coconut—"

"What?! Are you really?" Draco exclaimed, grabbing Harry's arm. Harry huffed in frustration at being interrupted again.

"Yes, I really am. I'm the son of Sherlock Holmes, I'd better at least know my bloody name!" Harry said, exasperated.

"Who's Sherlock Holmes?" Draco asked. This led to Harry once more explaining to a pureblood child the idea of a consulting detective. Draco looked almost as intrigued as Hermione and horrified as Neville.

"How do you survive?" Draco asked, mostly about living with muggles but also partially Sherlock in particular.

"I ask myself the same question sometimes," Harry answered mysteriously.

"You absolutely must tell me more! At first I thought muggles were boring—"

"Hey!" Hermione protested.

"—but your father sounds absolutely fascinating!" Draco exclaimed.

"He certainly is," Harry said, nodding his head.

"But, what about our robes?" Neville piped up. Harry looked a little surprised as if the thought of all his worldly possessions being alone and unguarded hadn't even concerned him.

"Good point, Neville. We'll get our trunks and return to this compartment for some story time," Harry replied with a small grin. He then walked off with Hermione and Neville in tow.

"Strange kid," Gregory Goyle grunted from the seat across Draco's. Crabbe nodded in agreement.

"Hush, boys. Harry Potter's father seems very dangerous for a muggle. We must assess what dangers he truly possesses." Draco said seriously, which to the outside viewer, sounds very silly coming from an eleven year old.

"I don't think I like Draco too much, Harry. I might strangle him before we get to Hogwarts," Hermione said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Don't take what he has to say too seriously, Hermione. He's just a little sheltered. Too many bad influences probably," He replied.

"Coming from the boy who's been to actual crime scenes as a 'learning experience'," Hermione said, using air quotes.

"Hey! I did learn a lot and besides, Draco can't really be that bad! He's eleven!"

"I don't know, Harry. The Malfoy's have serious anti-muggleborn sentiments. My gran always talks about how slimy and sneaky Draco's father is," Neville said.

"Well, if you two don't like him, you don't have to come with me. However, Hermione, since you are in fact my Watson, I would very much prefer it if you did," Harry retorted, smiling innocently at Hermione. Neville sighed.

"If you stop begging then I'll go back. I'm a pureblood so he's bound to at least act civil towards me," he said.

"You can't just force the title of 'Watson' on me!" she said, very much not wanting to go back to Draco's compartment.

"Please? He could very well be our Moriarty and I would hate for you to miss that," Harry said.

"You really should stop mirroring your parents. It's unoriginal," Hermione snarked.

"You have a point, but still I want to learn more about Draco. You must keep your friends close but your enemies closer!"

"And now you're quoting 'The Godfather'? Is that really the best way to try and convince me; using quotes from a story about criminals?" Hermione said.

"You really do read a lot. Well, I would use a real life quote from the number of criminals I've met but they either don't apply or they say some things I'd rather not repeat in front of a lady," Harry explained

"Fine! Sheesh. Is being your assistant always going to be this tiring and frustrating?" Hermione asked. Harry shook his head.

"Normally it'll be worse," He answered cheekily. Hermione groaned and together, the three of them left the compartment with their bags.

"You've returned! Now, tell me all about Sherlock Holmes," Draco said eagerly.

"You seem a bit more enthusiastic since we've returned Draco, any reason as to why?" Hermione asked suspiciously. Draco grinned at Harry who smiled patiently.

"I want to know all of Mr. Holmes' secrets to assess whether or not he'll be a threat," Draco explained calmly. Hermione and Neville looked confused. Harry snorted.

"Is he lying?" Neville whispered.

"No I don't think so. But then there's no way he'd tell us something like that outright," Hermione replied.

"Unless of course he thought you wouldn't believe the truth because of how outlandish it seems," Harry said. Draco nodded, "Though for future reference Draco, I will always suspend my disbelief if it leads to the truth, no matter how mad it may seem. And I will always come out on top."

"If you're anything to go on, Sherlock Holmes is definitely a threat. I'll be sure to write to father. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Watson. Now, get your mudblood and your blood traitor out of my compartment," Draco said, snapping his fingers. Crabbe and Goyle stepped forwards menacingly. Hermione looked scared, Neville looked like he wanted to fight and run at the same time and Harry was hardly fazed.

"So that's it? Are we enemies now?" Harry asked, a little put out at having his first rival be this predictable.

"I would think not! Imagine being enemies with the most famous boy in our generation before we even got to school! I may not like the company you keep, but I hope to be friendly rivals at least," Draco said casually.

"Oh thank goodness. Come on, let's get back to our compartment. Draco it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance and I hope for an interesting rivalry," Harry said, extending his hand. Draco shook it and nodded.

"I still don't like you," Hermione sneered.

"Likewise."

"Does this mean we have to lug our trunks all the way back to the other compartment?" Neville asked. Harry smiled.

"Yep."

 _Dear Sherlock and John,_

 _I know you'll be quite pleased and annoyed respectively that I made my very first rival! I haven't even gotten off the train yet! My new friend Neville said owls were good at sending letters so I'm trying Hedwig out. I told her your names and she nodded like she understood so I guess magic? I'll send another letter soon detailing my first day of classes._

 _With mushy gushy love,_

 _Harry_

"Mushy gushy love?" Hermione giggled.

"John gets a kick out of it and Sherlock gets annoyed by it so I imagine it'll balance them out when they find out I have a rival," Harry replied. He folded the letter up, tied it to Hedwig and watched her soar out the window. Soon, Harry would be at Hogwarts.


	6. Hogwarts, Day One

The bright fires of the castle contrasted heavily with the darkness just outside of the grounds. Harry thought this contrast to be quite beautiful from his lake boat, which had just crossed under the stone archway that served as a bridge for the carriages the older students took. The first years collectively gasped as Hogwarts came into view.

"It's beautiful," Hermione murmured.

"Indeed," Harry agreed, taking in every window, wall and crevice he could observe from the distance. After another few minutes of quietly drifting across the watery blackness, the group arrived at a small docking area. Hagrid led them to a massive doorway.

A stern-looking woman stood in front of the large wooden doors, watching the first years carefully. The gaze was like Sherlock's, curious and observant, and also stern. However, it was also kind, like John's. Harry wasn't sure what to make of her. She was definitely a school administrator and likely a teacher as well.

"I am Professor McGonagall. Welcome to Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Now before you are sorted into your houses, there are a few things you must know," she said.

Harry half paid attention to the professor's speech as he was also observing his classmates. Many appeared to be paying rapt attention to Professor McGonagall. Only Draco Malfoy and his cronies appeared to be totally ignoring her.

Nervous energy made it's way throughout the group. Some tapped their toes while others seemed to slightly rock back and forth in place. Finally, Professor McGonagall had stopped and gestured to the doors that slowly opened.

If Harry thought the Entrance Hall was large, then the Great Hall was colossal. Harry had no doubt he could cram an entire house in the hall. Candles floated above, but appeared to never drip wax. Four tables divided the main floor up while the table where the other professors sat.

In the dead center of the teacher's table, an old man with a long, wispy, white beard stood and spread his arms in welcome. His half-moon spectacles partially covered wise blue eyes that scanned each and every student for a brief moment. Harry noticed the man's gaze wavered on him for a moment longer than anyone else.

"When I call your name, please come forward to be sorted," Professor McGonagall announced to the first years.

First there was Hannah Abbott who approached a small stool with a brown tattered hat on it. At the encouragement of Professor McGonagall, she put the hat on. Suddenly, it sprung to life and started speaking. Hannah was promptly sorted into Hufflepuff. The table on Harry's far right applauded. The young girl set the talking hat back on the stool quickly and walked over to the table.

This process happened quite a few more times before Professor McGonagall called, "Harry Potter."

The hall broke into a flurry of whispers as students stared at Harry with a range of emotions that Harry could barely comprehend in the heat of the moment. He now understood when Sherlock would hide away from the world to regain his senses. Harry'd never experienced sensory overload before but now he wished he was back outside the door, where it was semi-quiet.

"Can everyone please shut up for a few seconds?" he growled softly. A few students close to him at the time instantly stopped whispering. Harry felt a little bad but still irritable. As soon as the hat slipped over his ears, he was plunged into silence.

 _Hm… intelligent and quite eager to learn. However, you possess the cunning and charisma of a Slytherin. Tricky one, you are._

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to go into Ravenclaw," Harry replied.

 _Ravenclaw? Are sure? There's no going back and Slytherin could definitely help you on the way to greatness._

Sherlock's visage appeared in the darkness, staring at Harry intensely. Harry felt his cool, deductive side begging him to choose Slytherin instead. Suddenly, John's face joined in and while John didn't outright smile, his eyes were filled with warmth.

"I've seen greatness in one of my parents and frankly, even he would say it's a bit overrated. Ravenclaw for me. Not to mention Hermione's almost for sure going to be sorted into Ravenclaw and I can't abandon my Watson," Harry replied.

 _I see. That loyalty's a very Hufflepuff trait, but I digress. You'll definitely find your place in RAVENCLAW!_

The table to Harry's right exploded into cheers. The rest of the houses clapped politely while the Ravenclaws greeted the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw, Mr. Potter. My name is Penelope Clearwater and I'm one of the two house prefects. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," a girl a few years older than him said formally, extending her hand. She had ink-black hair and bright blue eyes. She appeared a little anxious as did many people nearby.

"Thank you, Ms. Clearwater. You all have questions, I surmise?"

"Um… yes a few," Penelope said. A few people looked embarrassed but nodded.

"Very well, I will address your questions once my friend is sorted," Harry said, turning back just in time for Hermione to be sorted.

"RAVENCLAW!" Harry clapped hard as did Neville, who was sitting at the Gryffindor table.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw, Hermione!" Harry said, patting her on the back.

"Thank you, Harry. Making friends already?"

"Sort of. Our house has a few questions for me," Harry replied, turning back to his house, "First question?"

It was only ten minutes later and Harry had received approximately thirteen looks of sympathy and six hugs from nearby listeners including an awkward over-the-table hug from a girl who also was sorted in Ravenclaw. Harry vaguely recalled her name being Lisa Turpin. Apparently, Sherlock was definitely not a suitable parent in their eyes. They did, on the other hand, very much approve of John.

The feast lasted only a little longer before the old man at the center of the table stood and raised his hands in greeting.

"Allow me to formally introduce myself to our first years. I am Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I am the headmaster of this fine school. Now onto other matters, few beginning of the year notes before you're sent to your dormitories. The third-floor corridor is strictly off limits to those who do not wish to die a most painful death—"

"Sounds interesting," Harry whispered off handedly to Hermione. She swatted his arm.

"You're not getting me killed or expelled in my first week of school, Harry Potter!" she whispered back.

"Spoilsport," he grumbled.

"and the forbidden forest is, as the name implies, forbidden. A few parting words for you all to think on, Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" The headmaster said.

Harry looked around at the older students. They seemed to have taken Dumbledore's strange words in stride and began to stand up and leave the Great Hall. Harry shrugged and followed his fellow students. After walking up what seemed like hundreds of staircases, everyone stopped in front of a plain wooden door without any handle or keyhole.

"In order to enter the dorm, one must answer a riddle. If you get the riddle wrong, you must wait for another to come and answer it," Penelope said.

"I can roar and eat like a lion, but if I drink I will most certainly die. What am I?"

"A fire," Penelope responded without a second thought. The door swung open, revealing a huge circular room with two stories. The first held a massive fireplace with black leather couches. behind the couches were wooden tables that could fit many people. To the right were twin staircases going upwards and to the left was a large room crammed floor to ceiling with books.

"To the right are your dormitories. First years are on the first floor with the girls being on the left and boys on the right. To your left is our library. It is tradition for a Ravenclaw to leave behind a piece of literature in the library once they have graduated. Feel free to peruse at your leisure but you must always return the texts. The consequences for stealing are severe," Penelope warned. Harry flinched at the suspicious look she seemed to be giving him then smiled innocently.

Many of Harry's fellow first years seemed drawn to the library. Harry certainly wanted to read as many as he could but a sudden bout of drowsiness, most likely from all the food, suddenly hit and he trudged up the stairs with a quick goodnight to Hermione, who appeared completely unaffected.

As the first one in the dorm, Harry claimed the bed closest to a large window overlooking the grounds. The torches that dotted the castle twinkled merrily. The view was beautiful. Harry drifted to sleep with visions of owls and wands dancing in his head. Those dreams would soon turn to nightmares.

It began with Harry sitting up. He looked around at his surroundings. He appeared to be on a hill over looking a forest. In the distance, the sun was rising just a little over the mountains, where the wind howled viciously. He knew he could not let the wind catch him. He jumped to his feet and sprinted down the hill towards the forest.

The trees engulfed him. The sunlight could no pierce the dense canopy of the tall pines. Everything was still for a moment. Then, the gale caught up with him. It tore at him with such force that he could barely keep himself up right. His hair was in a flurry and he began to breathe harder.

Two animal-like figures appeared in an opening. From what hair could make out through the strong wind they were canines.

"You must keep running!" They said in unison, both were male.

"I cannot outrun the wind forever!" Harry protested.

"No, you cannot," one said.

"But you do not need to wait forever. When you are ready, you will be able to face her," The other said.

"Who is she? When will I be ready?"

"You will know," They said in unison once more. The wind picked up, howling madly. Harry snapped his eyes shut and the wind blew him off his feet.

Harry sat up, breathing heavily. He felt like a ton of bricks fell into his stomach. After getting his breathing back under control, he emptied his mind and tried to sleep. The rest of his first night at Hogwarts was peaceful, and he would not remember much of the strange nightmare.

Hermione sat across from Harry who was rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"rough first night?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah. I think I had a nightmare," Harry replied.

"It's probably just pre-class jitters. I get them all the time," said Hermione. Harry nodded but frowned, a pensive look donning on his face. He never got jitters, ever. He'd been to murder scenes for God's sake. If he'd started to go soft that'd cause some problems.

For the rest of the morning, Harry felt unsure about the dream he had. The misplaced sense of dread remained firm in his mind.

"Dear me Mr. Holmes, I am a bit disappointed to find only John. Where's the boy?" Moriarty asked.

"Afraid he's not part of our game, at the moment," Sherlock replied cooly, trying to stall for time until he was able to get John out of the bomb jacket, "Any particular reason you waited so long to strike?"

"Pffft… it's obviously surely."

"Of course… you planned this from the beginning. You wanted us to get attached to the boy before swiftly striking him down," Sherlock explained.

"You bastard! If you touch one hair on Harry's head I'll rip you limb from limb!" John growled. Moriarty laughed.

"Puh-lease. You're not going to be doing anything unless I allow it."

"Why haven't you just killed us, already? It would've been easier," Sherlock asked.

"Well obviously I want the whole set! And trust me, I will get you three eventually. But for now, a warning. Back off, my dear. I have loved the long game, of course, but I am still a business man and you are bad for business, Mr. Holmes! My threat is either back off, or I will tear apart the world to find and flay your son alive. Am I understood?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful! I'll see you all real soon!"


	7. School Life

"He's obviously hiding something," Harry said for the third time that day. Hermione huffed.

"Even if he is, he's a teacher. He's entitled to some secrecy," Hermione replied, hardly looking up from her book. The food on both their plates were hardly touched. Harry stared at her for a moment before rolling his eyes.

"He can try to hide them, but I'm onto him," Harry said, staring up at Severus Snape. During the first potion lesson, Professor Snape asked fairly difficult questions directed only towards him. It was almost like Snape had it out for him.

"This is probably the reason he doesn't like you very much, Harry."

"If he didn't have secrets I wouldn't need to expose him. And besides, he started it," said Harry. Hermione groaned.

"You're acting like a child."

"While I may be the protege of Sherlock Holmes, I am still eleven, Hermione. Cut me some slack." Hermione simply rolled her eyes and returned her focus back to her book. Harry diverted his attention away from the teacher and back to Hermione, "I'm going to go talk to Neville, would you like to come with?"

"I can't. I need to stop by Professor Flitwick's class. I still have a couple of questions regarding that cheering charm he taught us," Hermione said, snapping her book shut. Harry sighed.

"Oh well. I will see you later, my dear Watson," Harry said.

"I am not your Watson!"

Harry smiled and watched as Hermione marched defiantly out of the Great Hall. After she disappeared out of view, Harry stood and walked over to Neville.

"Hey Neville. How's your first few days at Hogwarts been?"

"Oh, hello Harry. They've been alright. Most of the teachers really know their stuff. Quirrell seems scared of his own shadow and Snape is just scary," Neville replied, gulping a little out of fear at the thought of Professor Snape. Harry definitely had it the worst, but Neville was definitely on Snape's radar as well. Apparently, he couldn't do anything right. If Neville said two plus two was four, Professor Snape would likely have tried to argue that it was actually five.

"I'm in there with you, Neville. That man is one of the most unpleasant people I've ever met, and I've talked to convicted murderers," Harry replied, patting Neville's back.

"You're Harry Potter!" a redheaded boy suddenly declared, pointing at Harry.

"Erm… yes I am. Did you not know who I was these past few days?"

"Well yeah, but I never got to meet you! I'm Ron Weasley," the boy now known as Ron said, extending his hand.

"And obviously, I'm Harry Potter. It's nice to make your acquaintance," Harry replied politely, shaking Ron's hand. Ron nodded and immediately began to work on his breakfast. The copious amounts of food he shoveled into his mouth reminded Harry of his cousin Dudley and Uncle Vernon. Harry shivered and decided maybe Ron Weasley was meant to stay just an acquaintance.

Suddenly, hundreds of owls swooped down from the open window. Out of the many, Harry picked out Hedwig fairly easily. The snowy white owl swooped down and landed next to Neville's plate. Another owl, a tawny brown one with hazel eyes, landed right next to Hedwig and stuck its leg towards Neville.

"What's that package the owl's got?" Harry asked. Neville unwrapped it and pulled out a clear sphere that suddenly turned cloudy and red.

"That's a rememberall. It turns red when you've forgotten something," a pale boy with an irish accent said, "I'm Seamus, by the way, Seamus Finnegan."

"Nice to meet you, Seamus. Interesting. It appears you've forgotten something, Neville," Harry observed. Neville blushed a little.

"The trouble is, I don't know what I've forgotten," he said.

"You forgot your robes. The stark difference between you and almost everyone else made it fairly obvious."

"Thanks Harry!" Neville said, "Once breakfast is over, I'll grab it on the way to classes."

Hedwig hooted impatiently and stuck out her leg. Attached was a pale purple envelope with Harry's initials written in cursive. Harry smiled.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _If you ever send mushy gushy love again, I'll poison you. Other than that, congratulations on making a rival! I do hope that he will push you to do your best. You must learn everything you can in order to defeat this person! Good luck and do well, my protégé._

 _Don't worry Harry, Sherlock's not going to poison you. Please please PLEASE do NOT get expelled because of this rival! Competition is good and all but you should be doing this for you. Just remember that. By the way, we finally encountered Moriarty again. He's looking for you so when you come back, we'll need to strategize. For now, enjoy your time at school! We miss you and Sherlock's dating a sociopath. You two would probably hit it off. Much love, ~John_

 _Harry, it's so good to write to you! It's so strange to write instead of text! Just when I'm finally used to the new gadgets that are coming out, suddenly I'm transported back to using pen and paper! I miss you very much and I hope you are enjoying your school, wherever it is! Sherlock and John are so secretive about it. It's very strange. Then again, it is Sherlock and John. Anyways, Sherlock is telling me to cut this short, so rude. I love you very much and you better be staying out of trouble young man! ~Mrs. Hudson_

 _Ps. I am not dating anyone, John is just a romantic. ~S.H._

"Did your dad threaten to poison you?" Neville asked, half serious.

"He's a high-functioning sociopath. It's his version of a joke and saying, 'I love you too' at the same time," Harry replied. The Gryffindors all stared at him.

"What's a sociopath?" Ron asked, finally looking up from his meal.

The first lesson of the day, and one that both excited and terrified Harry, was flying. Apparently, the whole stereotype of witches and wizards using magic broomsticks was a real thing. Harry had always thought it was a strange choice of transportation for magical beings, but there he was, learning to fly on a broomstick.

"Welcome to your first flying lesson, everyone! I am Madame Hooch, your flying instructor. I know many of you THINK you know how to fly, but believe me, you don't. No, if any, except for maybe one or two of you, decided to go out and fly, you'd break your necks! Now, let's not spend any more time talking. Stand next to your broom and hold out your hand over the broom and say 'up!'" Madame Hooch said.

As soon as Harry said the magic word, the broom leapt into his hand like an overenthusiastic puppy. Hermione was struggling with her broom. It rolled around and did almost everything but jump into her hand.

"It's a little bit like a puppy. You've got to be confident in your words. Otherwise, you just confuse it," Harry said. Hermione made a face.

"Since when have you been the broom expert?"

"I'm an expert at everything," Harry said confidently, although he had no idea where his advice came from. It just spouted out naturally.

"You are not. But I don't suppose it'd hurt to try… Up!" Hermione commanded. The broom jumped into her hands almost as eagerly as Harry's did.

"Wow," Hermione said.

"Now I want you to kick off the ground when I count to three. We'll float around for a bit and then touch back down," Madame Hooch said. She counted down and Harry and Hermione floated up. Soon they were about twenty feet in the air. Harry did a quick circle and smiled.

"I like this. I like this a lot," Harry said.

"I don't. I'm af-fraid of h-heights," Hermione stuttered. Harry smiled and floated next to her.

"Don't worry, my dear Granger. I'll catch you if you fall," Harry said. Hermione groaned and gripped her broomstick tighter.

"That still implies that I would fall, which I would like to avoid altogether, if at all possible. Also, calling me your Granger is not much better than Watson," Hermione said. Harry laughed.

"Alright, Hermione. I'll stop for now since you're scared."

"I'm not scared! I'm just very nervous."

"I think those are the same thing. Either way, let's touch back down. Sound good?"

Hermione nodded and together, they both floated down. Harry squeezed her shoulder and Hermione smiled.

"Thanks Harry."

A month passed and Harry loved Hogwarts with each passing day. He'd finally almost completely memorized where his classes were and even the staircases were beginning to be predictable. He thought he'd miss the appliances and technologies of the modern age but after a month, he hardly thought of them at all. His only connections with the muggle world now were his letters to and from Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson.

He'd also made more friends than he'd expected. Neville, Hermione and him were closer than ever. When Harry or Hermione were around, Neville seemed to be more relaxed and talkative. Hermione appeared to take her head out of her books more often and Harry didn't try to analyze every little detail of everyone.

Halloween was approaching and cool wind blew through the autumn air. Harry and Hermione stood outside the potions classroom, waiting for class to start, when Draco, Crabbe and Goyle strode up to them.

"Good morning, Mr. Watson, Ms. Granger," Draco said politely. He'd really taken the friendly rival thing to heart and Harry loved the distraction. At first, Draco had underestimated them and openly challenged him to a midnight duel but Harry quickly put a stop to that nonsense.

 _"You're going to have to try a lot harder than that, Draco. I'm not stupid," said Harry, not even turning to face his's challenge. Draco huffed._

 _"Can't make it easy for me, can you? Fine. I'll see you around, Mr. Watson," Draco replied._

Draco snapping his fingers in Harry's face interrupted him from his memory.

"It's polite to acknowledge your betters. Even Ms. Granger said hello," Draco teased.

"You're not my better magically or academically," Hermione replied. It was well known amongst the first years that Draco and Hermione were in serious competition with one another in both aspects. Recently, Hermione got the upper hand by being able to cast Wingardium Leviosa before Draco could. She also got a perfect score on the transfiguration essay while Draco misspelled equability.

"Whatever," Draco said, his face turning a light pink. Harry personally enjoyed watching them compete as it allowed for him to sneak to top in the class without them knowing.

"Are you excited for the Halloween feast, Draco?" Harry asked, trying to ease the tension. Draco perked up immediately but Hermione was still scowling.

"I am, indeed. Father has told me all about the feasts. He says even Dumbledore couldn't muck up something as good as the Halloween feast," Draco replied, smirking. Hermione frowned but before she could say anything Harry cut in.

"We can only hope."

Just then, Severus Snape opened the door dramatically and gestured for the class to enter. Harry and Hermione took their place in front of the class. Draco and blonde girl by the name of Daphne Greengrass sat at the table next to them.

"You are to create the boil curing potion within the hour. Time begins now," said Snape. With a flick of his wand, writing appeared on the blackboard at the front of the room. Hermione glared over at Draco.

"We need to beat them, Harry."

"I'm pretty sure it isn't a competition, 'Mione."

"Draco makes it a competition. Also, 'Mione? Is that your most recent stupid nickname for me?"

"What, you don't like it?"

"It's better than Watson or Granger, so I'll allow it. Now let's get brewing!" Hermione said with determination. Harry laughed and pulled out his potion ingredients.

Sherlock awoke in a stupor.

"John? John!" he shouted. John opened the door to Sherlock's room and peeked in.

"Goodmorning Sherlock. Glad to see you're awake. I think Lestrade took some pictures, though."

"Where's the woman?"

"What woman?"

"The Woman, woman!"

"Oh yeah, Irene Adler. She disappeared, Sherlock. No one saw her go."

"She was here."

"She couldn't have been. She never came or left 221b."

With that, Sherlock slumped back into his bed. On his nightstand was a letter from Harry. A lipstick stain in the shape of a pair of lips decorated the top. There was also a small bit of writing.

 _A son eh, Mr. Holmes? I'm so excited to meet him. Give him my love in your next letter. XOXO, Irene Adler._


	8. Halloween

Almost all of the leaves had fallen from the Whomping Willow. Cool wind gently blew through the hallowed halls of Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry. The spirit of Autumn was in full swing, it being heralded by Halloween.

Harry awoke to the smell of baked pumpkins. He smiled and sat up. After getting dressed and doing his morning routine, Harry met up with Hermione in the common room.

"Happy Halloween, Harry," Hermione greeted. Harry smiled and nodded.

"And to you as well, 'Mione," Harry replied.

"Let's get some breakfast."

The Great Hall was beautifully decorated with jack-o-lanterns that smiled cheerfully instead of the usual dripless candles. Live bats twittered about near the ceiling which currently showed the partially cloudy day.

"These are very impressive decorations," Hermione said in awe. Harry nodded in agreement.

It seemed the school decided to be lax on school that day, as everyone's classes ended at noon instead of the usual time. Students were encouraged to interact and enjoy the holiday. They learned levitation in Charms, which Harry delighted in.

Currently, Harry, Hermione, and Neville were sitting under a willow tree near the lake. Hermione was reading a tome that was almost comically large in comparison to the small girl. Harry was making a paper airplane zoom around the branches of the tree. Neville laughed as a blackbird thought it got too close and began to chase it around.

"Boys," Hermione huffed, trying to focus on her book.

"Cut us some slack, Hermione. Just because we're in Ravenclaw doesn't mean we have to read all the time."

"I don't have to read it, I want to. It's quite fascinating, actually," Hermione replied. Suddenly, Neville perked up.

"Is that Professor Quirrell?" he asked. All of them turned and saw just two hundred yards away, Professor Quierrell was walking hurriedly to the Forbidden Forest's edge. They stared at the man until he disappeared into the thick of the dense trees. Harry frowned.

"Come on."

"What?" Neville half-yelped.

"Seriously, Harry. It seems like there's no teacher you're not suspicious of," Hermione said, rolling her eyes and turning back to her book.

"It pays to be a little paranoid, Hermione. Either you're right or you're pleasantly surprised," Harry replied, standing up and stretching. Neville looked between the two of them, unsure who to follow.

"I'm not going to the Forbidden Forest, Harry. It's name isn't just a cute title for laughs."

"Hermione's right, Harry. We'd be breaking the rules," Neville said nervously. Harry groaned.

"Fine. I'll just go alone," Harry said, stomping off towards the woods.

"Curiosity killed the cat!" Hermione called, still reading the book.

"But satisfaction brought it back!" Harry shouted back. Hermione shook her head and stared after him. Neville looked after Harry as well.

"What am I going to do with that idiot. Come on, Neville," Hermione said, slamming her book shut. Neville jumped at the noise and stared at Hermione like she'd gone completely insane.

"What? But I thought you just said—"

"I know what I said but if Harry gets killed in there then we'll probably get in trouble, too," Hermione said.

"You two are seriously odd. Aren't you worried about him?" Neville asked, looking once again at the forest.

"Worried about Harry? No. If he's lived with Mr. Holmes and not died, then I fear more for Professor Quirrell as well as the poor animals that may encounter him," Hermione replied, keeping her eyes fixed on where Harry disappeared.

"Right," Neville said skeptically. Hermione remained quiet.

"Fine, let's go," Neville said, immediately feeling regret.

When Harry passed through the first layer of trees, the world got quieter. All that he could hear was the light whistle of the wind and crickets chirping. Harry felt his hair stand up. Something was wrong.

Harry stared up through the canopy. The sunlight could barely make it through, giving the forest the feeling of dusk, rather than noon. It was as if the world had forgotten what time it was.

"P-professor Quierrell?" Harry called meekly. Harry had stared down quite a few dangerous situations and not even flinched, but something bad was gnawing at his soul. Rot and filth and all manner of evil things seemed to turn their attention to him. He wished he stayed silent. Whatever dwelt in this forest that was so malicious turned its attention on him, he could feel it. The wind began to pick up and Harry couldn't move. Fear had paralyzed him. He opened his mouth to scream when a hand got him by the shoulder.

"Harry! What are you doing!" Hermione exclaimed. Harry was pale. Just near the edge of the forest stood Neville.

"H-harry? Hermione?" squeaked Neville.

"How could you just waltz right into the forest, you idiot! A wild animal could've attacked you! Quierrell's a teacher! You're not! I know you grew up with Mr. Holmes but still—"

"Guys?" Neville said again, this time visibly shaking.

"What, Neville?" Hermione said exasperatedly. Neville could only point at a tall figure that appeared to be flying. It was about fifty yards away and all three could hear its growling quite clearly.

"Run," Harry said, grabbing Hermione's wrist. She yelped as he dragged her towards Neville.

"It's getting closer!" Neville shouted. Hermione had begun to sprint as well. Harry was unsure if the high pitched screaming was him, Hermione or both of them.

All three cleared the forest and sprinted up the hill. When the were closer to the castle than the forest, they turned. Nothing was chasing them anymore. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping. It was a perfect Autumn day. Harry's gaze lingered on the forest. Something in there was watching him from that dark place. Something, or someone, more dangerous than anything he'd ever seen hid in the undergrowth. It made Harry shiver.

"Let's get out of here," Harry said. Neville and Hermione nodded in agreement.

Neville departed from them, saying something about needing a nap. He still looked pretty shaken. He did, after all, see the thing in its entirety. Hermione and Harry headed back to their own common room. Harry was eager to sit in an armchair and ponder over this new mystery. Hermione wanted to finish her reading.

Violins echoed quietly in the Ravenclaw common room. According to many, it helped with focus. Harry couldn't help but agree. His mind raced as he meticulously tried to remember every single detail of the Forbidden Forest, the creature, and most importantly, Professor Quirrell's disappearance inside the woods. Harry knew it couldn't be a coincidence.

"The universe is rarely so lazy," Sherlock had once told him. Harry shook his head and continued to think. Perhaps over the Winter holidays, he could bring Sherlock and John up to speed on the mystery of Professor Quierrell, if he hadn't solved it already. That night, at dinner, would see only the beginning of this mystery.

Dinner was truly a sight to behold. The live bats were now resting on the roof of the Great Hall which appeared to be the roof of a cave. Stalactites hung from the ceiling. The torches on the walls lit up with orange and black flames and Jack'O'Lanterns floated everywhere.

"Welcome everyone, to the Halloween feast! I could lecture you all about the importance of this holiday to the Wizarding World, but you all appear too hungry to appreciate it, so tuck in!" Professor Dumbledore announced, clapping his hands. Holiday themed food appeared all over the table. Hermione got over her initial disappointment at the missed chance to learn more about wizard traditions as soon as she smelled the sweet and savory foods.

Dinner was going quite well until Quirrell threw the doors open and sprinted in, screaming like a child about trolls. With his last whimper of, "thought you ought to know," the cowardly man fainted. At least, that's what many thought happened. Harry stared at the man intensely as he fell to the floor and noticed the flicker of his face. Quirrell was obviously faking it.

Hermione stood, but Harry pulled her back down.

"No! We've got to stay here! Quirrell's planning something. He's faking it. We've got to follow him!"

"Are you mad! We'll get in trouble—"

"Have we before?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Exactly. Trust me, 'Mione. Quirrell's up to something," Harry whispered as Dumbledore instructed the teachers to follow him to the dungeons and the students to go back to their dorms. Harry shuffled behind the Ravenclaws just until they turned the first corner. Harry and Hermione peeked inside the Great Hall to see Quirrell sneer and brush off his clothes.

"Pathetic. It seems even Dumbledore fell for that stupid distraction," Quirrell said. Harry felt a cold chill run up his spine. The professor's attitude had changed completely. His voice was arrogant and cold. Harry knew that if he and Hermione were caught by the man, they'd have to worry about a lot more than detentions.

"Stay hidden, this could get bad," Harry murmured to Hermione, who nodded. Harry briefly glanced back to see her features were set. There was some obvious fear and caution, but also determination in her eyes.

Quirrell began to stalk towards the Great Hall's doors, where Harry and Hermione were currently standing. They scrambled to hide. A broom closet was conveniently right nearby where they could hide. Harry was almost certain that the broom closet that they were in hadn't been there a few months ago. Silently, he thanked whatever supernatural being conjured it up for them. Hermione stared intently as Quirrell passed.

"He's moving, let's go."

Harry and Hermione cautiously followed the professor as he made his way up the castle, the opposite direction of the dungeons. Finally, Quirrell came to a door. With the flick of his wand, the door unlocked and opened into looming darkness. He sneered and entered. Harry and Hermione peeked from the door.

Quirrell paced once or twice before growling. The dog stared at him, as if to observe the human and decide if he was tasty or not. Unfortunately for him, Quirrell's arrogance would be his downfall.

"What are you two _doing_ here!" Snape growled. Harry jumped but covered his mouth. Hermione, less experienced in the art of espionage, gave a startled shout and turned. Quirrell seemed to have no idea how to act in front of a three headed beast that could easily swallow him up, because he turned and stared at the door where the three of them were standing.

"What—" was all poor Quirinus could utter before the middle head growled and promptly ate him. Harry instantly covered Hermione's ears and dragged her away from the sight before she could see something that gory and downright disgusting. Harry gritted his teeth and bore the nightmarish gurgling sounds Quirrell made as he was chewed up and swallowed. The dog let out a burp before curling up and falling asleep.

"What the Hell was that!" Hermione shouted, slapping Harry's hands away. Snape stared at both of them and then back into the room with a mixture of grim satisfaction and horror.

"Quirrell was attempting to steal something hidden at this school. I will let Professor Dumbledore explain the rest. You _will not_ tell anyone what you have seen tonight unless you are given EXPRESS permission from Headmaster Dumbledore, am I understood Mr Potter? Ms. Granger?"

"Yes sir," they both said quietly. It seemed Harry wasn't going to need to involve Sherlock on this one, after all. Harry, Hermione, and Snape all walked away from the revolting remains of Professor Quirrell. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry swore he thought he saw a dark specter rise from the body and zoom through the roof. Quite a disturbing Halloween it was.

"Are you alright, 'Mione?" Harry asked as they walked to the headmaster's office. Hermione looked a little paler than usual.

"I-I'm fine, I sup-suppose. I've never seen a real dead body before and it was so incredibly—"

"Fascinating?"

"Horrifying! What's wrong with you?" Hermione said. Harry chuckled.

"After going to approximately thirty different crime scenes, most involving murder, you kind of get used to it," Harry said, shrugging.

"That's unfortunate."

"It is what it is," Harry replied, staring straight ahead. Hermione placed an arm on his shoulder.

"Well, let's hope it doesn't become frequent around here," she said.

Snape stared at the two suspiciously before whispering something to the gargoyle in front of them. It leapt out of the way, revealing a spiral staircase. At the top was a pair of oak doors.

"Come in," A voice called from them.


	9. Aftermath

Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore prided himself in his ability to see the brighter side of any situation. No matter how much the dark crept in, Dumbledore would be there to shine a light. First it was Grindelwald, and then it was Tom. However, as he stared at the two eleven year olds in front of him, he was at a loss for words.

Hermione Granger had been reported as a prodigy. She was a perfectionist and went above and beyond in everything she did. She was determined and compassionate. There was none of that on her face now. It appeared as if someone has snagged the world from under her feet and she was still trying to process how to fall. Dumbledore thought this was sad. What he saw in Harry's face was sadder.

Harry's eyes were steely and focussed. With a minor probe, Dumbledore viewed Harry's thoughts shooting around rapidly, making impossible connections while the memory of Quirinus' death played over and over. Harry felt no remorse for Quirrell. He didn't feel happiness either. Harry just was. To be jaded to such terrible events at age eleven was truly unfortunate.

"Professor Snape tells me you two saw something quite traumatic tonight. Would you care to explain what happened?" Dumbledore asked, slipping into his grandfatherly persona.

"He would've told you the details already. What's the point in getting it from us?" Harry asked. Hermione remained quiet.

"Apologies, Mr. Potter. I prefer to collect multiple statements, from all witnesses if at all possible. Surely your father would agree," Dumbledore replied.

"My father wouldn't probe my mind, though," Harry said. His tone was not angry or aggressive. Instead, it was inquisitive. Harry wanted to know how exactly he did it.

"Apologies once again, Mr. Potter. I was merely curious."

"I completely understand, Headmaster Dumbledore. Next time however, warn me or simply ask. I don't believe in lying. The truth is rarely plain and never simple, just imagine how muddy lying is," Harry explained. Dumbledore nodded.

"A commendable stance. Now, would you mind describing the events that transpired tonight?"

"Yes sir. You see I noticed Quirrell didn't actually faint. It was a clever lie in order to get whatever is in that forbidden corridor. We followed him and as he was pacing in front of that beast, Professor Snape surprised us. Our noise must've distracted Quirrell long enough for the dog to maul him to death. It was quite gruesome, actually," Harry said thoughtfully. Snape looked appalled.

"It was horrific," Hermione spoke up. All three turned.

"Ms. Granger?"

"Sorry, I just… That was a very disturbing thing I heard. Harry covered my ears and moved me so I didn't see anything, but I still heard it a bit. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget the sickening sounds. Poor Professor Quirrell," Hermione whimpered.

"I wouldn't feel too much pity for him, 'mione. I believe he was housing some very dark magic," Harry said. Dumbledore's eyes furrowed.

"That's a very bold claim, Mr. Potter. To be a thief and to be a dark wizard are two very different things. What is your evidence?"

"Well, it's not concrete of course, but I saw a shadowy figure emerge from the bloody remains of Quirrell's corpse. I'm not sure I'd qualify that stuttering mess of a man a 'dark wizard' but he was housing some seriously dark power," Harry explained, shivering a little. That entity was definitely the _thing_ he, Hermione and Neville encountered in the Forbidden Forest.

"Very disturbing indeed, Mr. Potter. I'm afraid it very much relates to you, as well. From what you told me, I believe you encountered Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore said. Harry looked incredulous.

"Excuse me, headmaster, but don't the stories go that he was destroyed by me as an infant? As hard as it is to believe that notion, being destroyed sort of prevents you from existing in the present, right?" Harry asked. Dumbledore nodded sagely.

"Before now, I would agree. However during the first war, Voldemort dabbled in very dark and ancient magic. Magic I myself would never consider, much less use. I theorized that Voldemort wasn't truly dead, but I didn't want to share my theory, as the public would likely not be able to handle a supposedly 'unkillable' dark lord. So, I sat in wait. Now though, he has shown his hand. We can prepare for him to try to return, properly," He said, stroking his beard.

"What do you suggest we do, Professor?" Hermione asked.

"Publically, we can do nothing but wait Ms. Granger. The public will not be quite so willing to accept the return of Lord Voldemort. Minister Fudge is a peacetime minister and will certainly not back any concrete proof of Voldemort's resurrection. However, I believe that I may have to call some old friends together," Dumbledore replied wistfully.

"But certainly there must be something we—"

"No, Professor Dumbledore's right, 'Mione. This is a game of chess and unfortunately, we must play the long game. We will wait for Voldemort to strike again. When he does, we'll be ready," Harry cut in. Hermione looked as if she wished to argue, but said nothing and looked at her shoes.

"I must say, you're taking this fairly well, Mr. Potter. I am surprised," Dumbledore observed. Harry sighed.

"This isn't the first time a madman has tried to kill me. I am not sure how aware you are of my father, Sherlock. He is a detective and is in the sights of one of the world's most intelligent and ruthless criminals. That's how we met actually. My father saved my life," Harry said, smiling bittersweetly.

"He sounds like a great man."

"He is."

"And on that note, I believe we have nothing more to discuss. I suggest on the way back to your dormitory, you ask Madame Pomfrey for a dreamless sleep potion. Goodness knows you two have had a very stressful evening. Goodnight Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. He nodded to them over his half-moon spectacles with a knowing smile.

"Goodnight sir," They said in unison. They took Professor Dumbledore's suggestion and downed a dreamless sleep potion. Harry'd had enough nightmares about the ghoulish bodies and vicious killers he'd seen in London. He did not need to add Quirrell's shredded cadaver to that list, at least not tonight.

The next morning, the school buzzed with whispers about Halloween. Hermione seemed to perpetually blush whenever she thought someone was talking about it. Harry took a slightly different approach. He was spotted walking up to numerous individuals who whispered and pointed, and asking in the most naive way possible what they were talking about. Many would go pink and stop. Some would be honest but most would just shut up.

The most recent time, Harry strode back to the Ravenclaw table grinning. Hufflepuffs were the worst gossips. Some boy by the name of Cedric Diggory seemed like the only one who didn't buy into the gossip, so brownie points for him.

"Must you be so straightforward when confronting others?" Hermione asked tiredly.

"Yes."

While it seemed large at the time, the Hogwarts rumor mill churned Halloween night into a forgotten memory within a week. After all the excitement of Halloween, the days bled together until the first day it snowed. Winter had snuck up on Hogwarts and surprised them.

"Oh come on Hermione! Even Draco is joining in on the festivities!" Harry whined. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I greatly apologize that I'm not all for that outdoorsy stuff like you are," Hermione said, turning the page in her book.

"I forgive you."

"Really?" Hermione asked sarcastically.

"Yep. You can make it up to me by coming outside," Harry replied, grinning. Hermione snapped her book shut smacked Harry on the shoulder with it.

"Fine," she huffed, "but only because I can't read my book with you pestering me!"

"Wonderful!"

The snowball fight between Harry, Hermione, Draco, Neville, Seamus, Dean, Ron and two third years who went by Fred and George ("It's Gred and Forge!" they protested with cheshire grins) was a blast. It ended in a final showdown between the twins and Hermione. The twins were older and more magically powerful, But Hermione was a genius and Harry's ruthless idea of fun was starting to rub off on her.

Right when the Weasley twins had her pinned, she flicked her wand and muttered. The twins' fort caught fire. The flames didn't seem to melt the fort or burn anything, but it didn't stop them from yelping like children, jumping up from behind cover, and catching a snowball to the face, each. Everyone stared open mouthed at Hermione except for Harry. After all, she was his Watson and he expected only the best from her.

When Harry and Hermione returned from the snowball fight, Hermione dashed upstairs saying how she needed to get cleaned up. Harry noticed Hedwig stood on one of the nearby desks with white letter tied to her claw. The ink was red. After opening it, Harry smirked.

 _Dearest Harry,_

 _It's so nice to officially send a letter to you! You can't imagine how secretive Sherlock and John are about you! I feel like I'm talking to a ghost. I love your bird, an intelligent girl to be sure. Anyways, I'm babbling. My name is Irene Adler. Sherlock might've mentioned me, and God knows John probably did._

 _I'm an international thief and dominatrix. When you get a bit older I'll explain what that is, if you don't know already. Sherlock told me you're a protege of sorts. I'm not sure how true that is but if you're anywhere near as clever as they seem to think you are, I'll only give you this one warning…_

 _Stay out of it!_

 _Things are happening that are beyond you and I know it'd kill me if I let a child get hurt directly because of me. If you choose to interfere, welcome to the game. I won't be going easy on you._

 _Much love,_

 _Irene Adler (The Woman)_

Soon, Christmas Break had begun. Harry, Hermione, and Neville boarded the train, with Draco promising to visit their carriage sometime during the ride. After the three of them put their trunks up, Harry and Hermione sat on one side while Neville sat on the other. Hermione leaned against Harry's shoulder, propped open a book, and began to read. Harry stared at her in confusion, then at Neville. He grinned and shrugged.

"Fancy a game of exploding blackjack?" Harry asked, opening an exploding snap set. Neville looked confused.

"I thought it was called exploding snap."

"I created a mixture between poker and exploding snap. It's exactly like poker, but higher stakes on your cards!"

"How'd you manage that?" Neville asked, poking the card on the top of the deck.

"Professor Flitwick helped with charms. He loves helping students with projects like that. Something about 'unlocking their creative charms potential'," Harry replied. Neville smirked.

"Alright then. You're on!"

LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE BREAK LINE

"You'd better be glad Granger's good at regrowing eyebrows, Potter," Draco spat, smoothing his hair which had been slightly singed the last time Harry went over and the cards promptly exploded. Neville was still wiping tears from his eyes and Hermione smirked.

She, of course, heard the words exploding blackjack and instantly casted a fire retardant spell on her clothes, hair, and book. According to Harry that was being boring. Hermione begged to differ after the first time of the boys gained a receding hairline via fire.

"That's what happens when you barge into someone else's carriage, Malfoy," Hermione replied.

"I don't believe I asked, Granger."

"You know, maybe I'll take those eyebrows back. You looked quite funny without them," Hermione said, tapping her chin with her wand. Harry snorted and Neville stifled a laugh with his hand. Draco instantly covered his eyebrows with his hand.

"Fine! Fine! What childish game were you playing, anyways?"

"Exploding Blackjack. Want me to deal you in?" Harry asked, grinning.

Many rounds and explosions later, the train arrived at Kings Cross station. Students flooded out of the carriages and greeted their parents. Draco and Neville went off with each of their parents. Harry then helped Hermione find her parents and he promised to write after a glare from the bushy haired girl. Finally he approached two men, one with sandy hair and a small smile, and the other with a long coat and curly black hair.

"So," he said, holding up a white letter with scarlet ink, "tell me about this Irene Adler."


	10. Irene Adler

By the time Harry, Sherlock, and John reached 221b, Harry felt he was going to explode with all the questions he wanted to ask. John looked amused and Sherlock couldn't stop staring at the letter.

"How—" Sherlock started, before closing his mouth. He opened it once or twice more, reminding Harry of a fish out of water. Silence continued until John spoke up.

"Maybe Miss Adler snuck into 221b," John suggested. Sherlock shook his head.

"And _I_ wouldn't have noticed? Me?" Sherlock sounded a bit put off by that.

"Well, you do seem to kind of shut off whenever you're around her."

"She must be something really special, then," Harry said. John smirked and nodded.

"Oh yeah. First time we met her, there she was, stark naked and sitting on Sherlock's lap with his clerical tab between her teeth!"

"Clerical tab? I thought Sherlock believed himself to be the only higher power on this Earth," Harry remarked. Sherlock scowled.

"She merely took me by surprise, that's all," Sherlock said, cooling his words. John laughed.

"She probably was going to do a lot more than that," John murmured to Harry. He snorted.

"Anyways," Sherlock said, turning the conversation, "somehow, she sent you a letter. There are only a few viable possibilities—"

"Obviously she's either a witch or a squib. There's no other way she'd know to send me mail via Hedwig," Harry cut in. Sherlock nodded. He seemed both annoyed that he was interrupted and glad that Harry'd actually thought about Adler's mail.

"Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of asking her. Maybe she'll pop by for Christmas," John suggested. Sherlock made a face.

"Do try to take this seriously, John, if The Woman is a witch—"

"Then you can pull some crap excuse of her 'bewitching you'?" John said. Sherlock groaned.

"Well, I suppose until she shows her face again, it's a moot point," Harry concluded.

For the days leading up to Christmas, Irene Adler wasn't mentioned, in Sherlock's presence or otherwise. Apparently, the Winter Holidays were a good time for people to commit multiple crimes. Sherlock was so busy with helping the police, he let Harry take over the mundane and domestic cases. Harry found it interesting, which was good because Sherlock certainly didn't.

The cases came one after another. Harry dealt with at least three a day, and most paid pretty well considering an eleven year old boy was conducting the deductions and investigations. It seemed a lot of people were having affairs. Honestly, why did they even get married if they weren't going to keep their vows?

"Another case cracked, Harry?" John asked as a tearful man and angry looking woman stepped out of the flat. Harry nodded and counted the notes.

"Their idiocy is my fortune," Harry replied.

"Our fortune," John corrected after snatching up the bills. Harry crossed his arms stuck his tongue out at John. John smirked and put the notes into an envelope that was filled with notes.

"Even with Mrs. Hudson little bargain, this flat is expensive," Harry groaned. John patted his shoulder.

"It's alright. Once we have all the rent sorted out, you'll get your pay."

"Can't come too soon," Harry said, slumping in his (Sherlock's) chair.

Soon, Christmas had arrived. Harry was disappointed when Hermione claimed she could not come. Apparently she and her parents were in France. In the end, Molly and her boyfriend, Mrs. Hudson, and Mr. Lestrade came over.

"You've definitely gotten a bit taller since the last time we saw you! Not to mention it seems that school is feeding you properly!"

"We fed him properly!" Sherlock protested. Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes.

"You're lucky I cook you breakfast, Sherlock Holmes! Take out does not count," sniffed Mrs. Hudson. John shrugged in defeat while Sherlock still looked uncomprehending.

"It works for me."

"You are not a prime example of physical health," Molly chimed in.

"Yeah the school's very nice. I'm learning a lot," Harry cut in. He didn't want Sherlock to retaliate with more deductions.

Unfortunately, Sherlock didn't comply. He started deducing things about everyone and everything, even poor Molly who looked like she wanted to cry.

"You always say such horrible things. Always…" she said in a trembling voice. Harry looked between them unbelieving.

"I am sorry, please forgive. Mery Christmas, Molly Hooper," Sherlock said. Harry was more surprised about the apology than the deductions. Then, Sherlock kissed her on a the cheek and a woman's moan was heard. Harry let out a laugh and then covered his mouth.

"I—I swear that wasn't me! I—" if it was at all possible, Molly seemed even more red than before.

"No that was me," Sherlock said, reaching into his pocket.

"Seriously?" Lestrade asked incredulously.

"My phone," Sherlock replied, glaring. Harry peeked from behind Sherlock. The text was from Irene Adler.

' _Check the mantle,'_ The text read. Time seemed to slow down as Sherlock unwrapped a small cell phone. No one seemed to really notice except Harry.

"Excuse me," Sherlock said, in a more monotone voice than usual.

After a brief squabble between him and John, Sherlock stepped in his room.

"Is that her cell phone?" Harry asked, Sherlock spun and stared at him. There was a glimmer of unbridled rage and sadness in his eye which disappeared in an instant. He opened his mouth. Then he closed it once more. He took a few moments to stare at the phone, then Sherlock gave a very stiff nod.

"The cell phone that she wouldn't let anyone have, ever?" Another stiff nod.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," Harry said, wrapping his arms around the tall man.

After a few moments, Sherlock opened his phone and dialed a phone number.

"I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight."

A brief silence, then…

"I think you're going to find her dead." That monotone voice made Harry shiver.

After another brief silence, Sherlock walked out of the room, not acknowledging Harry whatsoever. Harry fell back onto Sherlock's bed, staring at the door sadly. He'd never really seen Sherlock grieve and it made him sick to his stomach.

The next hour or two was a blur for Harry. Everyone bustled about. Lestrade and Molly left, Lestrade for home and Molly for the morgue. Mrs. Hudson and John turned the flat upside down, looking for something. Harry only stared off into nothing, his mind racing.

"Did he take the cigarette?"

…

"Shit. We've checked all his normal spots, we didn't find a thing."

Harry looked at John who appeared exhausted and worried. He ran his hands through his hair and paced back and forth. It was another thirty minutes before Sherlock returned. He stepped into the doorway, his eyes darting around. Harry knew what he was looking for. Sherlock turned and headed for his bedroom.

"I hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time," was all Sherlock said before turning in.

Harry waited a few moments before standing up and wordlessly walking to Sherlock's room. He knocked lightly. There was no response. Harry lightly pushed on the door and it creaked open. Sherlock had not even bothered to change. He laid on the bed, facing away from the door. Harry stepped into the room and walked over to a chair. He sat down, not uttering a word.

"It is rude to wake someone up," Sherlock said. Harry smiled weakly.

"We both know you weren't asleep. You have my condolences regarding Ms. Adler," Harry said formally.

"Thank you, but I am fine. Love and sentiment are not things I value, even if you and John do," Sherlock replied.

"Don't be like that, not with me. Distancing yourself from us will do nothing but hurt you."

"I'm not distancing myself."

"You're a great detective, and an intelligent man, but you're not a very good liar."

"Or perhaps you just know me well enough," Sherlock said.

"Perhaps… Goodnight Sherlock," Harry said, closing the door.

"Is it?" was the last thing Harry heard before the door shut.

Harry couldn't sleep. He occasionally had nightmares and the trick cyclist usually said they were just memories resurfacing of Harry's trauma, and there was nothing they could really do about it but hope it went away. Tonight appeared to be one of those nights. The one or two times Harry could drift off were often filled with bad memories. There was something new now. Green light tinged each memory and Harry would often wake to cold laughter.

The last time he woke, the sun was beginning to rise. Harry groaned and rolled out of his bed. The sad scrapping of a violin could be heard. Harry padded downstairs to see Sherlock in his nightgown and pajamas.

"Composing?" Harry asked. Sherlock silently nodded and continued. Harry plopped down onto the chair that Sherlock usually sat in while working and listened.

"Any cases?" Harry asked sometime later. Sherlock nodded yet continued to play. Harry remained for another half hour before deciding to return to his room. He raised an eyebrow at a package on his bed.

"John?" He called.

"Yes?" John said, peeking into Harry's door.

"Did you leave this for me?"

"No, and God knows Sherlock couldn't have," John replied, frowning.

"Could be a trap from Moriarty," Harry pondered. Then, after a moment of silence, Harry grabbed the envelope from the top of the package and opened it.

 _Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you_

 _Use it well…_

"Use it well?" John murmured, reading over Harry's shoulder. Harry shrugged and tore the package open.

"It's some kind of cloak," Harry observed.

"Let's see how our resident wizard looks in it," John replied taking a step back. Harry smiled and threw it around his shoulders. A second later, it looked as if John's eyes were going to fall out of his head.

"What's wrong?"

"Your body's disappeared," John said in shock. Harry looked down and nearly jumped. Where his body once was, there was only thin air. But something wasn't right. Harry could still feel his body from the neck down.

"Is this some sort of cloak of invisibility?" Harry asked aloud. John clapped excitedly.

"That's amazing! I wonder who'd want to get rid of something like this," John said.

"That's a good question, one I'd like to have an answer for," Harry said, rubbing his chin.

A few days passed and Sherlock was not doing much better. Harry, John and even Mrs. Hudson had no answers to fix the almost moodier-than-normal nature of Sherlock. Once again, Sherlock was playing a melancholy tone on his violin and Harry was staring out the window, thinking about the many problems that faced him. First, there was Sherlock, then the mysterious invisibility cloak, which he managed to tie around his waist. He never knew when it would be handy. Now, John was approached by some woman and led into a car.

"Great," Harry huffed.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked irritably, annoyed that his playing was being interrupted.

"John just got in a car with some woman. Doubt it's Mycroft since he's got no reason to want to avoid your attention, unless…"

"Unless he wants John to know something that I should not or cannot know," Sherlock said.

"Shall we go after him?"

"Indeed."

Apparently, Sherlock hid a tracker in each pair of John's shoes after the first Mycroft incident. Harry thought that was somewhat paranoid until he thought about the current situation he was in. So, there they were, at an abandoned factory. This was not what Harry was expecting for his New Years. After getting out of the taxi, Harry and Sherlock entered through the door that was left open by John and the woman.

"This is definitely not somewhere Mycroft uses. He tends to like more open spaces, where his sniper can get a good shot," Sherlock deduced. Harry stared at him for a moment.

"Is all of your family this paranoid?"

"I'll have you meet a few of them and then you can get back to me with an answer," Sherlock retorted.

They made their way through the warehouse until they heard John's voice. Sherlock was about to call out to him when a woman's moan was heard from his pocket.


	11. New Year, New Professor

"Sherlock! Please stop, just for a second!" Harry shouted at the man, who strode down the sidewalk. Harry jogged to catch up with him and tugged on his arm.

"Sherlock?"

It was almost as if some other force possessed him. His eyes stared straight, uncomprehending in nature. His gait was quick paced, but average. Eventually, the two found their way back to 221b Baker Street. Both glanced at the door. Harry frowned and Sherlock pressed his hand against it, pushing it open.

The door had been kicked in.

Harry followed Sherlock up the stairs, noting the scratch marks on the walls and signs of struggle on the steps. Harry felt tense. Sherlock appeared cool and calculating as ever. Finally, Sherlock and Harry entered their flat.

Mrs. Hudson sat in a chair, crying. A man with an earpiece held a gun to her head. Two other men stood on each side of her. Harry began immediately analyzing everything he could.

"Don't snivel Mrs. Hudson, it'll—" Sherlock began before Harry noticed the blood on the man's hand, followed by the cut on Mrs. Hudson's head. Harry sniffed hard and the two agents next to Mrs. Hudson flew to each side, one right through the window. The agent with the gun shouted in pain. The handle of the gun was red hot.

Sherlock noticed this and took advantage. He lunged forward, striking the agent's throat. A quick left jab followed by a haymaker brought felled the agent. Sherlock quickly put the man into a chokehold until the agent was no longer conscious.

"Very good, Harry. How on Earth did you manage all that without a wand?" Sherlock asked. Harry shrugged, looking just as unsure as Sherlock.

"I think it was just some accidental magic. Happens sometimes with wizards with high emotion situations. This one time I set a python on Dudley," Harry replied. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Just once, though," Harry restated, bashfully.

"What are we going to do with him and the other two agents?" Sherlock pondered aloud.

Sherlock whipped his phone out after securing the three agents. Two were knocked out, but the third was fully awake and glaring at Sherlock. Harry was one hundred percent sure that if they weren't totally tied up, the agent would've already killed Sherlock, and possibly Harry. That both enraged and scared him.

"Hello Lestrade. It appears we've had a break-in at 221b. Please send your least irritating officers and an ambulance."

…

"No, no… We're all okay. No, it's the invaders. One of them is badly injured." The agent was definitely in trouble.

…

"A few broken bones, a fractured jaw, and possibly a punctured lung," Sherlock said poisonously. Harry shivered. Hopefully the agent would recover from this.

…

"He fell out of a window," Sherlock said, then snapped his phone shut. He eyed down the conscious agent like he was fresh meat. The agent would almost certainly not recover from this.

"Go to your room and don't come out until I explicitly tell or text you," Sherlock said with icy calm. Harry nodded quickly and walked into his room. For the next hour, Harry heard very little. Once or twice he heard groaning and then the shattering of glass.

Soon, police sirens were heard, and Harry peeked out a crack in his door. No one was there. Harry wandered through the silent flat. Red and blue light flared against the blinds of the windows. Harry slipped on a pair of shoes and exited out onto the street. John and Sherlock were talking to Lestrade.

"Good to see you again, Harry. Though, I wish it was in better circumstances. You alright?" Lestrade asked, clapping Harry on the shoulder. Harry nodded and Sherlock huffed.

"He's perfectly fine Lestrade. Why, Harry was a big help in dealing with these criminals, right Harry?" Sherlock asked. Harry nodded warily.

"How so?" Lestrade asked.

"Why, Harry threw one of them out the window!" Sherlock exclaimed, smirking. Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"I didn't know you were capable of jokes."

"I don't think he is," John said, eyeing Sherlock. All three agents were arrested. Harry, Sherlock and John sat down in the living room a little bit later.

"What the bloody Hell did you mean when you said Harry threw one of them out the window?" John asked tiredly. It had, after all, been a long day for him. Suddenly, their fireplace flared and Professor Dumbledore emerged.

"I believe I can answer that, Mr. Watson," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. John stared uncomprehendingly for a moment at the man before sighing gestured for Dumbledore to continue.

"Oh go on."

"Thank you, Mr. Watson. I'm actually here to erase the memories of those three agents, but I suppose it couldn't hurt to have a talk with you all. I'm also supposed to talk to you about Harry witnessing the death of Professor Quirrell so I expect I can kill two birds with one stone—"

"Pardon me?" John asked. Harry blushed.

"Yes. Did Harry neglect to tell you that he witnessed his Professor's bloody, horrific death?"

"Yes. Yes he did," John said through gritted teeth.

"Ah. Apologies for springing this on you, then. You see, Lord Voldemort possessed one of our staff, Quirinus Quirrell. He attempted to steal something very valuable and unfortunately met his end when our guard dog mauled him quite gruesomely. Do you wish to lodge a complaint against the school with the board of governers?" Dumbledore asked formally. John shook his head.

"Excellent. Now, back to what you asked. Harry actually _did_ throw one of those agents through a window. This was done through accidental magic. This is when a novice wizard loses control of their emotions, causing magical mayhem in their wake. It should go away within the next year or so, as long as Harry continues his magical education," Dumbledore said brightly.

"Is that all?" John asked.

"That is all I can tell you at the moment. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must be finding those agents," Dumbledore said absentmindedly. After watching Dumbledore exit the room, John and Sherlock turned on Harry. Sherlock appeared curious and John exasperated.

"How could you not tell us about this?" John nearly shouted. Harry flinched then rolled his eyes.

"I was kind of busy at the time! I mean, since when did Sherlock ever think of anyone romantically?"

"Excuse me—" Sherlock said before John cut him off.

"Sherlock's love life is not an excuse!"

"If it was anyone else's, it wouldn't be! Besides, we were fine and the only one who was eaten was Quirrell!" Harry replied. John groaned.

"I swear to God… both of you make me miss Afghanistan," John slumped in his chair. Sherlock smirked.

"This all sounds very interesting. It appears Voldemort is truly not dead. We'll have to fix that," Sherlock commented. Harry looked curiously at him.

"How are we going to do that?"

"It's simple, we must do research."

Sherlock, John, and Harry went down to Diagon Alley the next day. After talking to a few store clerks, they learned very quickly that anything related to living past death was considered quite dark. Apparently, they'd have to go to Nocturne Alley to find anything at all.

After John sprained a wizard's wrist who grabbed Harry by the shoulder, Sherlock led them into a dingy book store in the corner of a darkened square. A damaged bell rung and an older looking man stepped from behind the shelves.

The man was tall, at least 6'2. His jaw was sharp and his chin was pointed. The man's black hair had dashes of grey near his ears.

"How may I help you, Mr. Potter and others?" the man rumbled. His eyes darted between the three of them, glittering yellow. Harry shivered.

"We want to know how to achieve immortality. We're asking for a… friend," Sherlock said.

"I'm sure you are. There are quite a few ways to theoretically achieve immortality. Allow me to show you my collection," the man said. After about five minutes, the man brought out three tomes that were thicker than Harry's head.

"We'll take the lot," Sherlock said, smiling.

For the last few days of winter break, Sherlock, Harry, and John researched through the tomes, one per person. Sherlock was halfway through his when Harry had to return to school.

"Can't he stay until we find out what is causing Voldemort to stay alive?" Sherlock said as Harry boarded the train. John swatted his arm.

"No. Now Harry, since you aren't being pursued by a maniac—"

"other than Moriarty."

"yes, other than Moriarty, I want you study hard!" John said to Harry, who was leaning out the window.

"Yes sir!" Harry said, smiling. He gave John a salute, which was returned.

"Hello Mr. Holmes, Mr. Watson," Hermione said, peeping from behind Harry.

"Hello Hermione. Did you have a good winter break?" John said, shaking her hand. It was a bit awkward since she was leaning out the window.

"Oh it was marvelous! We went to France and ice skated! Mummy and Daddy should tell you all about it," Hermione said, grinning brilliantly.

"I'll be sure to take them up on that offer," Sherlock said dryly. John elbowed him and Sherlock scowled. The steam engine whistled and the brakes hissed. The Hogwarts Express was beginning to move.

"Have a good term! Try not to get attacked by dark wizards!" Sherlock called, waving. John also waved.

Once Sherlock and John were out of sight, Harry sat back in his seat. Hermione smiled at him.

"Have a good Christmas?" she asked. He nodded.

"Sherlock's girlfriend faked her death," he said casually. Hermione blinked and was silent for a moment.

"Sherlock has a girlfriend?"

Since Professor Quirrell was unceremoniously devoured by Fluffy the giant three-headed dog, a new professor was assigned to the post until the end of the semester. He was a shabby looking man, but appeared friendly enough. Harry could have sworn the man stared straight at him when he gazed at the student body during the feast that night, if only for a tad longer than anyone else. Then again, Harry did like to think the world revolved around him.

"Hopefully this one isn't possessed by Voldemort," Harry said to Hermione after Dumbledore introduced him.

"One can only hope," Hermione replied.

The next morning signaled the first day back, which meant classes began once more. Harry felt reinvigorated and for once this year, his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was actually interesting. Of course, that wasn't his first thought when entering the classroom. His first thought was a light wind could blow this man over.

"Good morning class. My name is Professor Remus Lupin. I will be filling in the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position until the end of the year, at least. After reviewing your first semester, which if I am not mistaken was minor defensive spells, I believe this term we will be discussing dark creatures, including hags, doxies, and imps. Let's begin, shall we?"

Professor Lupin unveiled a cage that held a fat looking creature. It blinked curiously at the students and grinned, revealing it's razor-sharp teeth.

"Can anyone tell me what this is?"

"An imp, sir. They're creatures that are known for surprising strength and viciousness. In large mobs, they can cause mayhem. They originate in Ireland and England," Hermione called.

"Correct Ms. Granger. Five points to Ravenclaw. Does anyone know how to defend against them?" Harry raised his hand.

"Mr. Potter?"

"You need to use the knock-back jinx to stun it, right?" Harry said.

"Correct, Mr. Potter. Imps can be nasty buggers and it is true that they have immense strength for their size. Now, what we are going to do is practice the knock-back jinx on this little fellow here. Whoever can hit it accurately will win ten points for their house. You have three chances, each," Professor Lupin said, smiling.

He flicked his wand and the desks created a sort of ring about 20 feet in diameter. A line formed outside the desks with Professor Lupin sitting on a chair at the entrance of the newly formed ring. Everyone lined up and began taking their turns. The imp didn't look very fast, but by God it was quick. It sneered and cackled every time someone missed. It made faces and rude gestures that had many of the class snickering. Hermione stepped out of the ring, frustrated. Harry was the last one.

"Let's see what you can do, Mr. Potter."

The imp stood at the far end of the ring. Harry took a few steps forward. The imp was bouncing on the balls of its feet, ready to make a move. Cautiously, Harry took his wand out and pointed as quickly as he could.

"Flippendo!" A red bolt of energy shout of his wand and his the ground where the imp was standing just seconds before. It was now to Harry's right. Harry spun on his heel and pointed once more.

"Flippendo!" he shouted once more. Once again, the imp was out of the way just in time. It stuck its tongue out at Harry, which made him red. He DID NOT like being made a fool of.

Harry stopped and took a deep breath. The imp relied on reaction, and likely would not deal well with a counter reaction. Perhaps, if Harry was quick enough, he could fake a shot then hit it for real. This was his last chance. He'd have to get closer.

Harry walked towards the creature. It bounced continuously, taking a few nervous steps back. Harry leveled his wand at the creature. It sneered in anticipation, ready to make a fool of Harry once more.

"Flip—!" he shouted. The imp moved and Harry kept his wand pointed directly at it.

"Flippendo!" he cried. The imp tried to stop and change direction, but it was too fast. The bolt hit it directly in the forehead, sending the creature spinning. Harry got it!

"Well done, Mr. Potter! Well done! Way to think quick on your feet. 10 points to Ravenclaw!" Professor Lupin said, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, grinning at the dazed imp.

"Please see me after class, Mr. Potter. I'd like to talk to you about something important," Professor Lupin said. With a flick of his wand the class was back in order. The rest of the period was taken up with notes that while a bit tedious, was infinitely better than Quirrell, who was a forgotten memory.


	12. Horcrux Hunting

"Professor?"

"Ah, Harry. Excellent work handling that imp today. Your father was no good at jinxes and charms, but your mother was a demon," Professor Lupin said, chuckling.

"You knew my biological parents?"

"Indeed I did. I was actually one of your biological father's best friends."

"What were they like? I mean, I've read a few books about them but they're all vague and don't really talk about them in a personal way," Harry said. It felt a little strange to be talking about his parents like he didn't even know them. He'd always referred to John and Sherlock when talking about his parents so the words felt foreign on his tongue.

"Well, your father was a troublemaker to be sure. Him, two other boys by the names of Peter Pettigrew and… and Sirius Black, along with myself, formed a group known as the Marauders. The pranks we pulled were infamous. Your father was a brave man and a kind one. He was more stubborn than a donkey, though. Your mother was as clever as they came. She was kind to me when many others were not. I'll never forget her compassion…" Professor Lupin's eyes glassed over a little. Harry smiled.

"Would it be okay if I came by every once in awhile to talk about my parents, Professor?" Harry asked. Professor Lupin nodded.

"I would like nothing more, Mr. Potter."

Hogwarts' weather soon grew warmer. The grounds became bright green. The smell of pine drifted from the forest across the grounds. While the weather was getting nicer, classes were not. Many teachers seemed to be of the mindset that the closer the students got to exams, the more homework was required. Harry didn't mind more work, but it was time consuming.

"Do you ever get tired of the library?" Harry asked. Hermione gave him a look.

"You do?"

"I don't like spending too much time in one place. I want a change of scenery," he replied.

"We could go to the common room—"

"No we did that already. Let's go outside," Harry said, staring out the window.

"Why on earth would you want to study out there? Madame Pince won't let us out there with her books," she said, eyeing her large pile of books worryingly. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Maybe we could take a study break?"

"Harry! These exams are really important! If we don't pass, we won't be allowed in second year!"

"Pfft. We're the best in our grade. We're not going to fail," he answered, piling up all the books to bring to the librarian.

"But—"

"No buts. We need a study break. We'll bring Neville, too," Harry said, tugging Hermione by her arm.

They found Neville at the great hall, doing homework. He was easily convinced to have a reprieve from school work.

"I didn't realize how tiresome it could be to make something levitate but I swear, if I hear 'wingardium leviosa' one more time, I'll go mad," Neville said as the trio marched out the doors to the grounds.

There was a willow tree nearby the lake. Harry sat at the foot of the trunk. Hermione sat at his right and Neville at his left.

"Well, this sure beats the last time we were out here. I still get nightmares," Neville laughed. Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry smiled.

"Honestly I don't know how you two are so calm about that incident," Hermione said.

"I don't have to worry. Harry's here," Neville said, smirking.

"Shoot," Harry said.

"What?" Neville asked.

"I was going to say the same thing about Hermione," Harry replied. Hermione huffed.

"Boys…"

A little while later, Hermione pulled out a book that she somehow concealed from Harry. Neville went down to the shore of the lake to join some other students who were playing with the giant squid. Memories of his winter break flashed across his mind.

He could never really get the full complexity of the mind palace like Mycroft and Sherlock, but he certainly had a foundation for it. He was at a table with John and Sherlock. They were reading the tomes from Nocturne Alley. The more he tried to remember the words in the book, the more frustrated he grew. Specifics like books would always escape him.

"Urgh," he grumbled. Hermione looked at him oddly before turning back to her book.

Harry hoped since he'd returned to Hogwarts from the break, Sherlock and John made some progress. As a matter of fact, Sherlock did make progress, and he came down to only three conclusions as to stay alive after being fatally wounded, each more horrifying than the last.

There was unicorn blood, but that would require Voldemort to have a constant supply, which would be difficult to maintain. Then, there was the Philosopher's Stone, which could extend Voldemort's life indefinitely. But, Sherlock researched Voldemort's methods during the first war, and alchemy was never really mentioned. He'd have to ask Professor Dumbledore when he met him next.

Finally, and most horrendous of them all, there were horcruxes. They could be anything, and according to some speculation, that included living things. There wasn't a lot of information on them, since the last known user of a horcrux was Herpo the Foul. There was another thing he would have to talk to Dumbledore about. Hopefully, that was soon.

Moriarty was also pressing in. Apparently, he'd lost his patience as it seemed he was making his move. There were a total of five trained assassins currently living in the flats surrounding him. There was something off, though. If Moriarty wanted Sherlock dead, then he certainly would be. Why would he hire some of the top assassins if Moriarty wasn't going to use them to kill him? It unnerved Sherlock to the no end.

Harry would be returning to 221b soon and right into the clutches of Moriarty. This also worried Sherlock. Perhaps he should send correspondence to Professor Dumbledore sooner rather than later. With that proactive thought, Sherlock ventured to The Leaky Cauldron.

The dingy pub had very few patrons at the moment. Sherlock approached the barkeep.

"I need to speak with Professor Albus Dumbledore immediately. Is there any way I may be able to contact him?" he asked. The bar was the only magical place Sherlock knew how to get to. The barkeep nodded.

" 'course there is. You could just floo ta him," he replied. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

A brief trip through the fireplace later and Sherlock found himself head over arse on the floor of Albus Dumbledore's office. The headmaster looked over his desk at the man with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes. What a surprise," he said as if Sherlock didn't just shoot out of the man's fireplace.

"Professor Dumbledore," he acknowledged, "may I take a seat?"

The headmaster nodded. Standing up, Sherlock brushed himself off and pulled up one of the cushy chairs that faced the desk. Dumbledore pressed his long, thin fingers together.

"How may I help you, Mr. Holmes?"

"Please, call me Sherlock. I've been doing research ever since that incident that you informed us about, regarding Professor Quirrell. I have three theories as of right now that may interest you as to how Lord Voldemort survived."

"Really? And what would they be?" Dumbledore said, mildly surprised.

"Unicorn blood, philosopher's stone, and most horrifyingly… one or multiple horcruxes," Sherlock said, wincing slightly at the last suggestion. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed.

"I… see. I wondered just how clever you were Mr. Holmes, and I am not disappointed. Well, I can ease your fear of the second suggestion. Voldemort never put much stock in actually _creating_ a philosopher's stone, so much as stealing the existing one. That is the reason Quirinus was devoured, after all," Dumbledore said. Sherlock nodded.

"What about the other two?"

"Hagrid did report one or two unicorns being killed recently in the Forbidden Forest, so there is credence to that. However, unfortunately I believe your other theory, regarding horcruxes, is how Voldemort has not been fully killed," Dumbledore answered. Sherlock frowned.

"What now, then? For all we know, his horcrux or horcruxes could be anywhere and anything!" Sherlock cried.

"Knowing Voldemort, having been his teacher in school, I doubt they were such things as simple or ordinary. No, they likely would have been objects of importance to magical society or himself," Dumbledore said. Sherlock frowned.

"Do we have any leads?"

"As of right now, only Quirrell. The man served as a sort of temporary horcrux for Voldemort. I have little doubt that he created only one, as disturbing as it sounds," Dumbledore said gravely.

"That does not help us much," Sherlock said flatly.

"Unfortunately, it does not. However, there are a few murders I know of committed by Riddle that might give us some hint as to what and where the horcruxes are." Sherlock nodded.

"When do we begin?"

"Does this weekend work for you? As headmaster of the school I find my time very much occupied during the weekdays," Dumbledore said.

"Of course. Let's say around noon on Saturday?"

"Very well, Mr. Holmes."

That Saturday, just as Sherlock prepared to go to the Leaky Cauldron, the once tame mantel flared a bright green, basking its most immediate surroundings, including Sherlock himself, in bright green light. He jumped in surprise and then took a step back. Albus Dumbledore, dressed in a bright purple robe with bright yellow stars on it and adorning a sort of sleeping cap stepped from the blaze.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes. I'm glad I caught you. I didn't want to tire you with traveling back to the Leaky Cauldron just to come to Hogwarts when I could just floo here," he said with mirth. Obviously he was laughing a little at Sherlock's surprise. Sherlock nodded.

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore. It is a pleasure to see you again," he said.

"And you as well. Shall we begin?"

"After you, professor."

The two men stepped into the flames, and Dumbledore cried "Little Hangleton!"

Sherlock and Dumbledore emerged from another fireplace. The room was empty and worn down. Sherlock looked around.

"No one's lived here in some thirty years, at least," he said. Dumbledore nodded.

"This house is apart of a small village that used to exist. However it's been abandoned by most, with only a few houses in the area. I am glad it was this one, as I prefer not to obliviate muggles," he replied.

"Where to?"

They ventured through the deserted village. Sherlock felt shivers run down his spine. Something was obviously wrong here. They stopped at the edge of the village at a rundown shack in a higher state of disrepair than their initial house.

"Care to explain this splendid location?" Sherlock asked. Dumbledore eyed him, twinkle gone.

"This was the Gaunt family's house, before Voldemort, known at that time as Tom Riddle, framed the last descendent for murder," Dumbledore explained.

"And you think that Voldemort placed one of his valued horcruxes here?" Sherlock asked, unimpressed, "how dull."

Dumbledore actually laughed at that before approaching the house. Sherlock stopped for a moment, shook his head, then blinked.

"Riddle must have placed an anti-muggle ward on the house. Fairly basic and easy enough to get through if one recognizes it," Dumbledore said.

"Just felt like I lost my train of thought for a moment. I doubt the anti-muggle ward was meant for one of my caliber, however," Sherlock replied, walking past Dumbledore to the front door.

"How humble, Mr. Holmes."

"Thank you."

They made their way through a darkened hall. Sherlock was reminded of haunted houses from horror films. The floorboards creaked with every step. Sherlock was glad that at the very least, if something tried to approach them, then they'd hear it before it reached them. They reached the sitting room. Moth-eaten furniture and a small table was all that greeted them.

"It's here." Sherlock looked at him curiously.

"How can you tell?"

"I've not felt this dark a presence in all my life. There's definitely something here," Dumbledore replied pulling out his wand. Sherlock closed his fingers around the cool steel of his pistol.

"Can you do some sort of spell to locate it?"

"A few. Give me a moment… here."

"What? Under the floorboards?"

"I would say so, Mr. Holmes," Dumbledore said. Sherlock eyed the floorboards Dumbledore's wand pointed to.

"Wonderful! Let's crack them open."


	13. Cause and Effect

With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, the floorboards rattled and creaked before flying forwards. Under them was a wooden small box with the Gaunt family signet imprinted on the top in poison-green wax. Dumbledore stared intently.

"This is it?"

"Yes. This is most certainly one of Lord Voldemort's horcruxes," Dumbledore replied slowly.

"What do we do now, Mr. Dumbledore?" Sherlock asked. Dumbledore frowned.

"We destroy it."

"I read that horcruxes must be damaged beyond repair in order to completely destroyed. I also read that they're tough bastards," Sherlock commented. Dumbledore nodded, still staring at the box.

"I know of a spell, but I'd prefer it if we destroyed it somewhere more open. Fiendfyre, even for an accomplished wizard such as myself, is fairly difficult to control," Dumbledore replied. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

Dumbledore picked the box up, holding it delicately. Very carefully, he opened it. Inside was a sort of signet ring. The mark was a circle in the center of a triangle. A line went down the center of the triangle, splitting the circle and triangle in half. Sherlock faintly remembered seeing the symbol in the storybook he'd bought at the book store.

"Is that the symbol for the deathly hallows?" Sherlock asked, turning to Dumbledore. If anything, he appeared even more shocked than before.

"Indeed it is. And if I'm not mistaken…" he muttered. He held his hand steady and began to fit the ring onto his hand.

"Headmaster," Sherlock urged. He gripped the man's wrist, "Do not forget what this thing is and who created it."

Dumbledore blinked before letting his free hand drop. He looked quite troubled. After a few moments of silence, he looked at Sherlock gratefully.

"Thank you Mr. Holmes. You are quite right. I have no doubt Tom placed all sorts of curses in the case of someone finding his ring. No. It is best we destroy it," Dumbledore said quietly.

The men exited the house and began walking towards the forest nearby. They entered the dark woods and walked for what Sherlock estimated to be about half a mile. They stopped abruptly in a small clearing. Dumbledore took a deep breath and then suddenly stabbed his wand into the earth. It sunk to about half the wand's length as if the ground was liquid. The earth rumbled and Sherlock gave a shout of alarm.

The trees, rocks and foliage began sliding backwards, away from Dumbledore. Earth shifted and swirled away, leaving a massive circle of empty land, about fifty feet in diameter. Dumbledore was breathing heavily.

"It has been quite some time since I've used a spell that draining," he said tiredly. Sherlock looked around.

"Very impressive, headmaster."

"Thank you. Now, to do what we came here for…" Dumbledore placed the box where his wand just was, then led Sherlock to the very edge of the circle. He whirled his wand above his head, with a look of steel.

Flames began to ignite at the tip of his wand. An unearthly noise came out like all the beasts in the animal kingdom giving out their respective calls. A long tongue of flame whipped around their heads before bursting into the shape of a bird.

"What is that?"

"Fiendfyre. The bird happens to be a phoenix," Dumbledore said through gritted teeth.

"Fascinating."

A melancholy cry was heard before Dumbledore swished his wand downward. Flames splashed around the box that held the horcrux. As soon as the flames burnt through the box, a shrill screech echoed over the roar of the magical fire. A shade appeared over the flaming horcrux. Dumbledore didn't know the face, but Sherlock recognized it all too well.

"Even if I'm burning now, I'll destroy everything you love. Little Harry can't hide from me forever!" cackled the shade.

"Who is that?" Dumbledore asked. Sherlock's countenance darkened greatly.

"Moriarty. The Napoleon of crime and my worst enemy. He does not simply wish to kill me, but to destroy everything that I am and that I stand for," Sherlock replied. Dumbledore looked between the shade and Sherlock.

"I see. Allow me to finish this," Dumbledore said. With a flick of his wand, the flames expanded, swallowing the general area until the shrill screeching died out. With a final grunt, the flames were sucked back into his wand. Dumbledore was openly huffing now.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked.

"I will be. Come along, Mr. Holmes. We should return to the castle and discus our next move," Dumbledore said, plucking up the charred remains of the horcrux. A twinkle within the remains caught Sherlock's eye, but he said nothing.

They reached the house they initially came from and floo'd back to the castle. Both stepped out and brushed themselves off.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Holmes. I appreciate your assistance in this matter," Dumbledore said. Sherlock nodded.

"Not at all, professor. I—" Sherlock was cut off by a sudden urgent knocking at Dumbledore's office door.

"Come in," Dumbledore said calmly. Hermione Granger running into the office. Her face was red and she was breathing heavily. Obviously she'd been running

"Professor! It's Harry! He suddenly collapsed and started screaming and I took him to to hospital wing! Madame Pomfrey told me to get you!"

"Of course, dear girl. Come, we will go see Harry together and sort this out," Dumbledore said gravely. Sherlock didn't speak either, but Hermione noticed him.

"Oh… Hello again Mr. Holmes. Yes, let's go," Hermione said. Sherlock nodded in acknowledgment.

They all walked quickly to the hospital wing. They could hear Harry's shouts of pain behind the doors. They opened before any in the group even touched them. Dumbledore's rob whirled behind him.

"Madame Pomfrey, please give me a report," Dumbledore said, standing at the boy's bedside.

"I—I… there's nothing wrong with him! I've ran all my diagnostic charms on him and he seems perfectly fine. He managed to say his scar was hurting before he started shouting again. I don't know what to…" Dumbledore flicked his wand at Harry. A red bolt of energy hit Harry before he slumped. Sherlock looked at him in alarm.

"What did you do?"

"I merely stunned him. Hopefully the pain fades. I have a feeling that it has to do with our recent endeavors, Mr. Holmes," Dumbledore said. Sherlock frowned and nodded.

"Do you think—" but Dumbledore raised a hand.

"We should discuss this matter in private, I think. Present company likely is not the best audience for this kind of conversation," he said.

"Of course, professor," Sherlock said, glancing between Hermione and Madame Pomfrey. After casting a few more silent spells and frowning, Dumbledore left the infirmary with Sherlock right on his heels. They had much to discuss.

A few hours later, Harry awoke to an empty infirmary. A sudden wave of pain overtook him and he groaned. The last thing he remembered, he was studying with Hermione in the library when it felt like his skull was split open by a hammer. He remembered shouting. His throat felt raw. He was screaming, then a few voices were barely heard, then everything went black.

"Well that's just bloody unhelpful," Harry cursed. Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office and made a beeline right for Harry.

"How are you feeling Mr. Potter?" she asked, casting a few spells on him. 'Obviously diagnostics' he thought. He rubbed his scar and looked at her blearily.

"Not great. I would feel better if you happened to get the license plate of the car that hit me," he grumbled.

"Unfortunately not, Mr. Potter. Now, as I don't see anything physically wrong with you, I will release you. However, I'd like you to periodically check back with me and possibly the headmaster," she said.

"Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter. He was the one that stunned you and will likely have a few questions for you. Now, off you pop," she said.

"Before I go, do you have anything for the pain?"

"Of course," she said, bustling over to a shelf with a strange assortment of flasks and bottles. She handed him a grey-blue potion that had the consistency of water, "here you go, Mr. Potter. It's a numbing potion. Try to only sip it when experiencing pain, as it will numb your whole body if you drink to much."

Harry eyed the potion before taking it a sipping it. After a moment, the painful sensations in his head were reduced to a mild buzzing. Irritating, but bearable.

"Thanks," he said. She nodded and shifted her attention elsewhere. Harry took this as his cue to leave. After checking the time, Harry made his way to the Great Hall, where everyone would be eating dinner by now.

By the time he reached the doors, he could hear the excited buzzing of the student body. He opened the doors. They were rather loud and quite a few people turned to look at him. He went red a bit and waved awkwardly. Most regarded him for another moment before turning back to their conversations.

"Oh Harry, I'm so glad you're feeling better!" Hermione said, hugging him when he sat down. Harry smiled.

"Thanks 'Mione. I'm not really sure what happened back there," he said sheepishly. Hermione appeared unsure of what occurred, either.

"I don't know. You seemed to be having some sort of fit. I was able to get you to the hospital wing and get Dumbledore. Actually, your father was there, too," Hermione recounted. Harry's eyebrows went up.

"Sherlock was here?"

"Yeah. But he didn't stay long, though. Both he and Dumbledore came in, Dumbledore stunned you and then casted a few spells, then both left pretty quickly. They looked really worried," Hermione said.

"Wow…"

"I know. They said something about recent endeavors. Do you think Mr. Holmes is helping Dumbledore with something? Maybe a case?" Hermione asked. Harry shook his head and shrugged.

"I don't know. I'll bet it has something to do with Voldemort, though," Harry said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, this holiday break, after all that went on with Quirrell, Sherlock figured that Voldemort was somehow keeping himself alive. When we came back, Sherlock hadn't made a breakthrough. I'll bet he did recently, and brought Dumbledore in on it," Harry said.

"That makes sense. Do you have any clue as to what could have been keeping Voldemort alive?" Hermione asked.

"No. Next time I see Sherlock, we're going to need to talk," Harry said.

"Well, since you seem to be doing better, you can check my Defense Against the Dark Arts essay after dinner," Hermione said cheerily. Harry groaned.

"Why? You never have any problems with essays," Harry grumbled.

"Well, you're the best in our grade in defense and one can never have too much help," Hermione said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"That's debatable."

Final exams were soon upon the first years. Many seemed to be overly stressed, like Hermione, or carefree, like Harry. This dynamic made the test days somewhat tense for the pair.

"What do you _mean_ you don't care how you did? Don't you realize that if we fail these exams, we don't graduate to second year?" Hermione exclaimed as the pair walked out of their Herbology exam. Truth be told, it was fairly easy for Harry. He stuck to what he knew and everything worked from there.

"Well, considering the fact that even Crabbe and Goyle are going to at least pass, then I've nothing to worry about. Besides, I'm the top of the class, remember?" Harry said, smirking. Hermione scowled

"Don't remind me. Even though Malfoy is tied in second with me, he still likes to rub it in that I'm not the best. Honestly I don't know how you tolerate him," Hermione said. Harry rolled his eyes and smiled. They'd had this conversation many times over the year.

"Well, we're going to be in school together for the next six years. Might as well make them pleasant, right?" Harry said. Hermione still looked mad.

"I still don't see how you can tolerate him," she said.

"I've got two psychopaths who want me dead. I don't really have time for a school bully," Harry said, smirking. Hermione laughed.


	14. The Precipice

Summer began rather quietly, as compared to the past few months. Harry was bored out of his mind once more and absolutely hated it. Hermione on the other hand, was quite pleased with the relative calm that came with the change of the seasons and the end of the school year. Of course, the end of school did not bring about a new attitude in regards to her school work. She was as diligent as ever and occasionally would send Harry letters, trying to make him do the same.

While there was a sort of calm at 221b, it seemed everyone was quite tense. Moriarty seemed to be making his move. The assassins weren't doing anything incriminating. They would occasionally eye Sherlock or Harry awkwardly, but say or do nothing else. It was driving Sherlock mad.

"What are they playing at?" he growled, staring down at one of the assassins who appeared to be coming home from grocery shopping. The summer seemed like it would last in perpetual tension, until one day in the middle of July.

Harry awoke to sunlight streaming into his bedroom from a crack in the blinds. He yawned and stretched. He wondered if he would come across one of the deadly assassins again, and if they would remain mute. He didn't really believe anything would change, but he couldn't help but hope for some kind of freedom from the infernal boredom he was suffering through.

He trotted to the living room, where breakfast was ready for them. Obviously Sherlock and John had already eaten as their places were already cleared away. Harry silently thanked Mrs. Hudson and began to eat. He clicked the power button on the nearby remote control and flipped the channel to BBC. What he saw almost made his heart stop.

 _JAMES MORIARTY PRIME SUSPECT IN PENTONVILLE BREAKOUT ATTEMPT, BANK OF ENGLAND ROBBERY ATTEMPT, AND ROYAL JEWELS ROBBERY ATTEMPT_

So, this was Moriarty's move? After watching for awhile longer, Harry turned the tv off, finished his breakfast, and sat down in Sherlock's chair. He pressed his fingers together and went over all the information. Obviously, this was some sort of cover up or show. If Moriarty really did break into all of those places, it wouldn't have been an attempt. It would have been successful.

"I see you saw the news?" Sherlock asked, entering the sitting room. Harry nodded.

"Any theories?" Harry asked. Sherlock sighed and shook his head.

"Many theories, nothing worth acting on until we have all the information, do you?"

"Not a theory, just ideas. Moriarty's making his move. It's going to come down to this, isn't it?"

"I am afraid so. Whatever Moriarty's been planning, it appears to have reached a crescendo. Stay safe, Harry," Sherlock said gravely.

"You too, Sherlock," he replied.

Harry was called as a sort of witness in the trial. He was watching, of course. It made him shiver when Moriarty smiled at him. A quick yelp from the man made Harry smirk. It appeared something sharp had pricked his foot. He rubbed it and looked around his feet, but he found nothing.

"Did you do that on purpose?" John asked in hushed whisper.

"I wish. I would've stabbed him somewhere more productive, like his nether regions," Harry replied. John snickered. His accidental magic was helpful, sometimes.

Sherlock was called up and Harry watched as he exposed James Moriarty for what he was. Harry just wished Sherlock was able to keep a lid on it. It appeared to be his turn once Sherlock was removed from the court room.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. You have been called to the stand to testify against Mr. Moriarty. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Very good. Prosecutor, you may ask your questions," the judge said.

"Mr. Potter, can you explain, in detail, your interaction with Mr. Moriarty?" the prosecutor asked. Harry nodded. He looked to Moriarty, who was smiling as if he were anywhere but a court that was trying him for heinous crimes. Harry raised, then looked to the jury. They looked nervous. It all came together for Harry.

"Um… yes. My first and only interaction with the man was during that series of bombings that went on about a year or so ago. Some men knocked me out and strapped me up in a coat loaded with bombs. Moriarty told me to do everything he said, or he'd blow me up," Harry said. Many looked at the man in horror, who merely waved at Harry. Harry sat back, knowing that whatever heinous things he brought against Moriarty, there was no way he would see prison.

After a few more questions, Harry was dismissed back to his seat. One quick recess later, the jury unsurprisingly found Jim Moriarty not guilty of any crimes. Harry had been expecting this.

"See you soon, Harry," Moriarty said, leaving the courtroom. John and him attempted to follow him, but were held up by reporters and thus couldn't tale the man. John was worried, but Harry knew Moriarty wouldn't try anything. This was the build up to something terrible. By the time they'd reached 221b, Moriarty was gone. Sherlock looked slightly shaken, but fine otherwise.

"Moriarty came by, I presume," Harry said. Sherlock nodded, "Did he say anything?"

"Nothing helpful, just more threats," Sherlock replied. Harry sat in the client chair and pressed his temples.

"We'd best be ready for anything, then," Harry said, staring out the window. He went upstairs sometime later and began writing to Hermione.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _This is not a letter I thought I'd be writing, especially at the age of eleven. However, recent circumstances have brought it to my attention that my mortality is a very real thing and thus there are a few things I want to say before my time likely comes. Of course, this is hopefully me being paranoid, but I very much doubt it._

 _The first thing I wish to say is thank you for being my closest friend. You are selfless and caring and while you can sometimes be a bit too precocious, I know you only have my best interests at heart. Truly, in my very short existence, you have brought me the most amount of joy in the best year of my life. In that line, I also wish to tell you that while it may annoy you, calling you my Watson is the highest compliment in my mind. You are my confidant and the one who I hope always has my back._

 _Unfortunately, you cannot attempt to save me this time. It is a matter that will stay between myself, Sherlock, and John. We must contain and eliminate the threat that is Moriarty, and I will not have you become collateral damage on my behalf. I could not bear it if you were hurt or possibly even killed._

 _Once again, thank you for your year of friendship. I truly hope there is more to come._

 _Love,_

 _Harry_

"Please see that Hermione gets this as soon as possible," Harry said gravely. Hedwig hooted worriedly, but let Harry attach the letter to her leg. With one gentle nibble of his ear, Hedwig took off through the window. Once the snowy owl escaped Harry's sight, he turned to an empty space on his wall.

"I believe it is time I got to work. I don't have a death wish, after all," he said to himself.

Harry began his investigation. He began when he made his first appearance to Sherlock. Of course, he had likely been responsible for a numerous amount of crimes before that, but this was the first documented case that he knew of. He scrolled through John's blog and even sent an email Ms. Adler. He had no idea whether or not she'd respond, but he figured it couldn't hurt to try.

A week passed. Hermione wrote him back. It was short, there were scribbled out words, and one or two stains that looked like tears. The gist of the letter was that Harry better not give in to Moriarty, he'd better keep her updated, and she believed in him. It warmed his heart yet also made it ache.

Irene Adler also surprisingly answered. He was set up to meet her at a nearby cafe. She didn't say anything discreet, but did say he owed him through Sherlock. Apparently, he saved her life sometime after he went back to school. After getting dressed, Harry left Baker Street and headed to the cafe.

"Hello Mr. Potter," Adler purred from behind him. He spun around. She wasn't dressed indiscreetly, but he'd barely noticed her.

"Ms. Adler," he said as calmly as possible.

"You need my help with Moriarty, I presume?" she asked. Harry pulled up a chair and nodded.

"You worked with him, I figured you know at least a bit about him," he replied simply.

"Indeed I did and I do know a bit. I know for one he was fairly interested in you. Something about 'completing the set'. I thought it a bit strange, but I accepted his help regardless," she said.

"Interesting. Would you be able to give me any specifics?" Harry asked.

"Possibly. But the real question is why should I help you?" she said, smirking. Harry shrugged.

"To be completely honest, I didn't think you would. However, I do know you grew up hearing stories about me from your parents." her smile wavered a bit before she rolled her eyes.

"Yes yes, the chosen one. I never put much stock into it, but I'm told I'm fairly cynical," she said calmly. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"So you're a squib?"

"Please. Just because I'm not using my wand willy nilly doesn't mean I'm not capable," she said.

"Fully wizard then. You went to Hogwarts then?"

"Indeed I did, Ravenclaw."

"Same here," Harry said. She raised an eyebrow.

"I would've had you pegged for Gryffindor," she said.

"Bravery gets you nothing when you're dead," Harry said matter-of-factly.

"Sounds very Slytherin."

"Almost was, made the hat put me in Ravenclaw," he replied. She nodded.

"Fascinating. Well Mr. Potter, it has been a pleasure speaking with you. If I have any information for you regarding Mr. Moriarty, I might pass it along," she said, standing up.

"That's it?"

"Aw. What's a little fun without some foreplay?" she said. Harry blushed, "Loosen up, kid. Sherlock's the only man I've got eyes for."

Before Harry could get another word about how that was totally inappropriate, she laughed and disappeared with barely audible _pop_. Harry shook his head, clearing his mind of the strange woman. He was just glad the shot in the dark seemingly paid off. It was time for the waiting game.

The game did not last long. Moriarty forced Harry's hand.

After wandering around the city and even stopping by Diagon Alley, Harry walked up to a police-surrounded 221b. Sherlock was pressed against the police car with John right next to him. Harry looked around bewildered.

Harry saw Sherlock say something to John before a deafening screech echoed over the police radar. Harry covered his ears and winced. Even from farther away it still hurt.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please lower your weapons!" Sherlock announced, holding a handgun.

 **BANG**

"Now would be good!"

"Do as he says!" Lestrade shouted. Harry just noticed him. What the hell was going on?

"This isn't my idea, I'm just—"

"My hostage!"

"Right… Hostage," John said. After a few more moments, Sherlock said something to John Harry interpret. Right before both men took off, Sherlock made eye contact with Harry. The man's eyes said it all.

 _Run_

Before Harry was even comprehending what he was doing, he found himself bolting back down the street he'd just come.

"Harry?" Lestrade called, "Harry please come back I need to talk to you—"

Harry did not come back. He just kept running. His mind raced faster than his body. He went over everything he knew. First, Irene Adler could be trusted. Second, Sherlock and John were fugitives. Third, Moriarty was behind this and Harry could use all the help he could get. He managed to find himself back at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Ah, Harry! Good ter see ya lad!" Tom called. Harry gave him a weary smile and handed him a few galleons.

"Mind if I get a room tonight, Tom? And please don't mention me being here to anyone, if you don't mind," Harry said. Tom looked at the money before nodded solemnly.

"Of course, Mr. Potter. Room thirteen should suite you," he said, leading Harry upstairs.

Harry heard the door click shut behind him. He looked around at the comfortable room and slumped into the armchair nearby the fire. He sighed and rubbed his temples. The climax had begun.

Harry began to make his plans.


	15. Rallying the Troops

_Dear Mr. Lupin,_

 _While I have not known you for very long, I have a hunch I can trust you. My hunches are not typically wrong. I will be frank. I need someone who'd be willing to fight for me. I know you fought alongside my father during the first wizarding war, and I was hoping you would help me with this relatively smaller matter._

 _There is a madman after me; a man that is not Voldemort. He is a muggle of the highest intellectual and economic power. He wants my guardians dead as well myself. He has made his move, and now it is my turn to retaliate. Before I go into more detail, may we meet somewhere to discuss this further?_

 _With regards,_

 _Harry Potter_

After sending Hedwig off with the short letter to Remus Lupin, Harry placed his quill on the desk and rubbed his temples. It'd been a few days since Sherlock and John went on the run, and they hadn't been in contact.

Harry had stayed in the Leaky Cauldron, making it his base of operations, so to speak. It wasn't much, but it worked. He'd even managed to get a bulletin board moved into his semi-permanent room with the help of Tom. He tried to avoid the awkward stares the wizards at the pub gave him.

Through thorough investigation and more than one sleepless night that week, Harry realized just how much Sherlock's description of the man was truth and not exaggeration. Sherlock was, after all, a bit overdramatic sometimes. His reach was all over. Nearly every major case since John met Sherlock was the work of James Moriarty; the cab driver, the jade pin, and Irene Adler. Hell, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if the man were somehow involved with the Hound of Baskerville case.

In short, if Harry wanted to take down the man, he'd have to cripple the organization. There was no other way about it. Moriarty was a hydra. His head was the most important, but his empire would survive without him. Harry knew Sherlock must have done extensive research and God knows Mycroft will have some information. Perhaps it was time to visit his uncle. He knew where to find him.

Harry entered the Diogenes Club with a pen and a notepad. He approached the man at the desk and began scribbling.

 _Is Mycroft Holmes in the Stranger's Room?_

The man's eyes swept over the pad and then nodded. With a gesture that clearly meant for Harry to follow him, the man began walking deeper inside the club. The man led Harry to a grand wooden door with a plaque next to it entitled _Stranger's Room_. Harry managed to sign the words _Thank you_ to the man before opening the door. The hinges didn't even creak.

"Ah Harry. I wondered when you would find your way here," Mycroft said, smiling coldly. Closing the door behind him, Harry stared at his adoptive uncle for a moment.

"You knew I'd come?"

"Of course. With Moriarty on the loose, and my dear brother and Doctor Watson on the run, you would naturally find your way here eventually. Took you longer than I thought, though. I must ask, where have you been these past few days?" he asked. On the desk was two plates, one for him and another for a visitor. Harry assumed it was an invitation to sit, and he did so.

"I can't tell you that, uncle," Harry said formally. He'd never really spoken to the man before. It was like talking to Sherlock, but without any warmth whatsoever. Harry thought that perhaps the chill in the room was not coming from the air-conditioning, but from the man in front of him.

Mycroft looked at him critically for a few moments. He didn't blink or even twitch. It must be a family thing, because Sherlock often did the same thing. Harry didn't back down, though. His emerald eyes matched the man's intense blue ones.

"I take it you're a wizard then?" he said calmly.

"What?" he said immediately. He knew the man could deduce things but something like that just didn't occur to muggles. Unless…

"You're a wizard?" Harry asked. Mycroft snorted.

"If I were a wizard I would not waste my time with being a government official. No, I am not magical. However, high-ranking members on a need to know basis do occasionally interact with the magical government. Naturally, I need to know," Mycroft replied. Harry looked surprised.

"I thought the magical government was totally secluded from the muggle one," he said.

"Oh they certainly tried, but after the attacks on Britain during the World Wars, the magical community couldn't try to hide. Bombing raids took out magical people as easily as they did muggle. They reached for our help and we granted it. They are still British citizens, after all," Mycroft said smiling.

"So you know about wizards, but you never talked to us about it?"

"It was highly classified information that only a handful in the government knew about. Of course I never told you three!"

"I suppose that makes sense. So, you know I'm a wizard. Now that that's out of the way, let's talk about Moriarty," Harry said. Mycroft's left eyebrow rose ever so slightly.

"You have a plan to deal with this criminal mastermind?" Mycroft asked.

"Part of plan that you most certainly could help with. As of right now I'm trying to enlist as many people as I know to help me. There is a friend of my biological parents that I believe could lend magical expertise and aid. I also heard a rumor that before Sherlock went on the run, he was assisting Dumbledore with another criminal mastermind, this one of magical nature. I thought he could also lend some help," Harry replied. Mycroft nodded.

"It seems you have a handle on the situation, if a very light and barely controlled handle. To answer your question, yes I will help you. I fear for my brother's safety, and that extends to you and Doctor Watson. Moriarty is psychotic and will stop at nothing to destroy everything his one true enemy, my brother, represents," Mycroft explained.

"We probably should not meet in the Diogenes Club every time we wish to speak. Moriarty is bound to catch on. Might I suggest somewhere in the magical world? Somewhere totally secure?"

"And where would that be?"

"Hogwarts."

Harry led Mycroft through London, back to the Leaky Cauldron. Mycroft, like Sherlock and John, did not notice the building until he was standing right in front of it. He blinked and then looked at the building. The man actually looked shocked.

"I am always astounded by the power that these magical people could hold over us," Mycroft said. Harry laughed.

"They would first have to move on from medieval times," Harry responded. Mycroft understood what Harry meant as soon as he stepped through the doors into the pub. Most of the people were wearing robes of some kind and even pointy hats.

"How stereotypical," he said, chuckling.

"No kidding. They actually ride brooms, you know," Harry said.

"And magic carpets, too?" Mycroft asked jokingly.

"No, those were outlawed awhile ago, apparently," Harry replied nonchalantly. In reality, he was getting a bit of a kick out of Mycroft's constant dumbfounded expression. It certainly did not suite the man.

"Come on, we need to floo Dumbledore," Harry said.

"Ah, I've heard tell of the man, but not much. He is your headmaster, yes?"

"Indeed. He's also quite eccentric, even for your brother. Be ready," Harry said.

"Thank you for the warning," Mycroft said, staring at the fireplace they approached.

A brief trip through the floo later, and they were face to face with Albus Dumbledore and Fawkes the phoenix.

"Ah Harry, good to see you, lad. And you must be Mr. Holmes the older, yes?" Dumbledore said after they stepped through the fire. Harry extended his hand.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, it is good to see you again," Harry said. Dumbledore shook the boys hand and Mycroft followed suite.

"So Harry, tell me why you venture all the way to Hogwarts of all places during your Summer holiday."

"There is a madman after me, professor. Not just Voldemort. This one's a muggle. Mycroft?" Harry said, glancing at his uncle.

"Erm, yes. Mr. James Moriarty is a criminal mastermind that not only a week ago broke in to three of the most secure places in England. Not only did he not take anything, but he also got off scot-free," Mycroft explained.

"Fascinating. And you believe this muggle is making an attempt against Harry?"

"I do not _believe…_ I know. He will stop at nothing to destroy Sherlock, John and Harry. He could be compared fairly well to Voldemort, except Moriarty rules only the muggle underworld. I don't think he'd try to make a bid for Prime Minister," Mycroft said. Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle.

"I see. Yes, this man could pose quite a threat. If he is nearly as bad as you say, then he must be stopped," Dumbledore replied. Mycroft raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"Do you have a plan, Professor?" Harry asked.

"I consider myself a fairly powerful wizard, but no. Not yet. To be fair to myself, I've only learned of the situation less than an hour ago," Dumbledore chuckled, "Where do you believe we should go from here, Mr Holmes?"

"Well, first we must contact my brother. He has been planning for this for awhile and would not be very happy if he found out we were plotting against Moriarty without him," Mycroft said. Harry nodded in agreement.

"He's on the run from the authorities, though. Would there be a safe way to contact him?" Harry asked. Dumbledore smiled.

"I believe I can help with that. I can, as you muggles say, teleport," Dumbledore said.

"How does that help us?" Mycroft said. Dumbledore looked at the man for a moment before nodding.

"Take my arm and you will see."

Harry took one arm while Mycroft took the other. A quiet pop echoed and suddenly Harry felt himself being stretched and squeezed as if being sucked through a giant straw. He vaguely heard Mycroft yelp before all three were deposited in front of St. Bart's Morgue.

"How did you know Sherlock would be here?" Mycroft asked.

"Legilimency. It is a form of mind reading. I only brushed your surface thoughts and saw that was where you and your brother established where to go if hunted by the authorities. My my, you two have prepared for this, haven't you?" Dumbledore answered calmly.

"It is a wonder a wizard hasn't tried to take over the world," Mycroft remarked. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Over my dead body, and that is highly unlikely."

The trio walked up to the steps and looked throughout the hospital. On one of the top levels , they found the two talking heatedly. As soon as they saw Harry, the talking stopped. Harry ran and embraced Sherlock and then John. Dumbledore and Mycroft followed up and began talking with Sherlock.

"Are you alright, Harry? You didn't let Lestrade get to you, did you? He's a good man but right now we're being set up by Moriarty and he's playing him against us," John said, getting low so he could look him in his eyes.

"Yeah I understand. I've been hiding at the Leaky Cauldron while trying to make plans to stop Moriarty," Harry replied

John was obviously concerned. The man appeared to be scanning him for any physical injury whatsoever. Harry knew he was fine but was glad that John cared so much. It warmed his heart. After a few more moments, John seemed satisfied.

"Alright. Let's see what the grown ups are talking about."

"Good time to join us, gentlemen. I believe now that our little group has come together, we can discuss how to properly defeat Moriarty," Albus said, eyes twinkling.

"Time to get rid of the spider once and for all," Sherlock said, smiling coldly.


	16. The End

Harry knew that no plan survived first contact. They made contingencies, of course; plans within plans within plans. Sherlock was very anal-retentive—erm…meticulous, that way. Of course, having the greatest wizard in the century present didn't help, either. It seemed he was even more scrutinizing of the details than either Holmes. Harry couldn't keep track of all the sub-planning. He could tell John felt the same way.

Unfortunately, Moriarty made contingencies as well. He was the most influential criminal mind of their time, after all. It all began at St. Bart's.

John received a call. Mrs. Hudson had been shot, likely by one of the assassins that took up residence nearby. Of course, Harry and Sherlock recognized it as a ploy to remove John from the equation. He did have a tendency to shoot first and ask questions later.

"It's a trick," Sherlock said.

"What? Are you sure?" John said.

"Almost positive. Moriarty has agents anywhere and he wouldn't be so sloppy as to have one of the assassins shoot her for no reason."

"Then I'll just stay then."

"No. Go."

"Why?"

"If Moriarty is trying to divide us, then we need to play along. Otherwise, he'll suspect us and our entire plan will go down the drain, most likely ending in all of our deaths," Sherlock explained nonchalantly. Johns stared at the man for awhile before shaking his head.

"Unfortunately, I can't argue with that. Be careful, Harry. You know what Moriarty is like," John said, squeezing Harry's shoulder.

"You too, John," Harry replied, nodding. After another five minutes, Sherlock's phone beeped. Moriarty had sent Sherlock a short text.

 _I'm waiting… M_

"Are you sure you can do this?" Sherlock asked, gripping Harry's shoulders and staring him directly in the eye. Harry nodded.

"He has to be stopped. I'm part of that plan whether I like it or not."

Together, Sherlock and Harry went up the fire stairs and onto the roof. If the situation wasn't so serious, Harry might have laughed. Moriarty was bobbing his head to 'Stayin' Alive' by the Bee Gees. Harry guessed Moriarty was a fan of disco.

"Glad you could make it. And you brought the boy… thats good. Wouldn't want him dealing with dear old Mrs. Hudson and miss all the fun," Moriarty commented nonchalantly. Sherlock stepped protectively in front of Harry.

"What do you want?" he said. Although Harry had a feeling Sherlock already knew the answer.

"What a vacuous question, Sherlock. Frankly, I'm disappointed. I mean, obviously I want you destroyed. You were fun while it lasted, but I've beaten you. Not even Junior's friend could get the jump on me," Moriarty said. Harry swallowed. Could he mean that Remus was—

"Dead, of course. Poor man had quite a fall," Moriarty said, pointing towards a building across the street. A man in all black stood at the edge, saluting them. He must've pushed Remus off the ledge. Harry knew that in reality, Remus must've apparated away before he ever hit the ground. It was a problem, though. Now that Moriarty 'killed off' the only perceived threat, Sherlock and Harry were on their own unless they chose to blow their cover.

"You're a monster," Harry managed to say. Moriarty sneered.

"No, I'm just prepared. If you think I'm stupid enough not to bring my own back up, then perhaps Sherlock really is a fraud," he laughed, "Now, shall we get down to business?"

"And what business, other than your arrest, would that be?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I didn't invite you two up here for the view, you know," Moriarty replied. Sherlock's eyes flickered to the ledge. Harry felt something wrong. If he wanted to just outright kill them, they'd be assuredly already dead. Something wasn't right.

"You rob three different high security places with a code that can unlock any door, take nothing, get off scot free, tear down my image and now…"

"Now it's time to take the final leap… Fake genius detective commits suicide out of shame. I read it in the newspapers, so it must be true. I love newspapers. They're like fairytales," Moriarty said.

"And why would I do that? You haven't really given me much incentive," Sherlock said coldly. Moriarty's smile was twisted.

"Let me put it this way, your friends will die if you do not." That stopped both of them in their tracks.

"John?" Sherlock asked. Moriarty's nod made Harry shiver.

"Everyone."

"Mrs. Hudson?" Another nod and Harry could feel the tension rising.

"Everyone."

"Lestrade?"

"Three bullets, three gunmen. There's no stopping them now unless my people see you jump," Moriarty said.

"And Harry?" Moriarty looked at Harry as if he were ordering food at a resturant. His grin made Harry take a step back. He felt sick. They never discussed the possibility of collateral damage. Moriarty's obsession seemed to only extend to Harry, John and Sherlock.

"Perhaps he'll have an accident as well. Maybe I'll take him under my wing, make him my sidekick," Moriarty taunted. Sherlock paled.

"Please… leave him be," Sherlock's voice cracked. Harry looked at the man and saw a tear run down his cheek. Moriarty grinned.

"And why in the world would I do that?"

"Because after everything, this is between you and me. You want me destroyed, I can understand that. We are, after all, enemies. But they are collateral damage. They do not dare to tread the depths that we do. Please, if you have any mercy, leave them alone," Sherlock begged. Moriarty's face became grim. He looked at Harry.

"The respect I have for you will keep him alive, as long as he behaves himself. Understand?" Moriarty sneered. Harry nodded. The man's face suddenly morphed back to a cheerful state. "Wonderful! Now, off you pop." Sherlock turned to Harry, who could not comprehend what was happening. His mind was moving too slow. Fear was crippling him.

"I love you, Harry. Remember that. In my life I've made many mistakes and have many regrets. If there is anything in my short life that I can say I was proud of, it'd be you. Stay strong when I'm gone and please stay with John. You'll need each other," Sherlock said, putting on a brave face. Harry felt his eyes sting. The seconds ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace.

"God please… don't," he croaked. For the first time in awhile, he felt his age. He wasn't the prodigious Harry Watson, or even Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. He was just some kid who had no control at all. It was crushing.

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty said happily.

Sherlock stepped off the ledge.

"NO!" Harry scrambled forward, to where the detective had just been standing when a bright bolt of energy caught his attention. He turned.

Moriarty's face was one of shock as he fell over, stunned. Before Harry could react, he felt someone wrap their arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

"Remus?" Harry asked hoarsely. Lupin nodded.

"Yes, it is me. God, Harry, I'm so sorry. After they thought they killed me, Dumbledore alerted me about the gunmen and I tried to get to all of them in time… Jesus, I can't believe—"

"We have to go! He's down there on the street! You're a wizard! You have to save him!" Harry shouted, trying to pull away. Remus shook his head gravely.

"Wizards can do many things Harry, but resurrecting the dead is not one of them," Lupin said. Harry looked and felt as if he'd been punched in the gut

"Then what are you for?" Harry spat. He immediately regretted saying it, but at the moment he couldn't care less. One of the two only parental figures of his life had just committed suicide. Dumbledore apparated onto the roof with a small pop,

"And where were you?" shouted Harry. He barely noticed the tears running down his face. Dumbledore's face was ashen. His eyes were a stormy deep blue and lacking his usual twinkle.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, I cannot tell you. It is for your safety as well as everyone else's," Dumbledore answered grimly.

"That's not good enough! You should've kept him safe! You could've…"

"In my life there are many things I could've done. This will forever be one of my greatest regrets, Mr. Potter. You have my most sincere condolences."

"Sherlock…" Harry murmured, staring at the ledge where the man stood only a short while ago.

Harry was escorted down from the roof and into a cab by Remus. Dumbledore did not come with. They hadn't broken the news to John yet. Harry could feel the guilt weighing on him. If he'd had his wand… but no, he'd stupidly left it on his dresser. Sherlock's death was his fault.

Harry was so lost in thought he didn't notice they'd arrived at 221b. John was waiting with a smile on his face. It dropped when only Remus and Harry got out.

"Where's Sherlock?" he asked, looking at the cab, which was beginning to pull away. Harry could only shake his head. His own words were choking him.

"John…" Remus said. John's face paled slightly.

"Come on… This isn't funny, boys."

"He's gone," Harry uttered weakly.

"What?"

"He's gone! Moriarty got his wish! Somehow with all that bloody planning Sherlock still manages to die! All because two fully grown wizards couldn't do their jobs!" Harry shouted. His voice echoed off the street. Remus could only look ashamed. John looked from the man to Harry.

"Come on inside, Harry. I—I'm sorry Remus," John choked before closing the door.

The next hour was spent in silence. Harry sat in the client chair while John took his usual spot. They could only stare helplessly at it. Every second was spent praying to whatever was out there that the detective in the funny hat would walk through that door. Every second only killed their hope further.

It was Lestrade who came to the door next. Harry couldn't speak, so John did.

"Mr. Watson, you are cleared of any charges whatsoever. Mr. Holmes has also been posthumously cleared," the man said in a steely tone. It was clear he was dealing with his own emotions regarding the detective's death.

"Fat lot of bloody good that does him," John replied, slamming the door shut on the detective. Lestrade left.

The day turned into night, which turned back into day. Harry slept fitfully when he managed to drift off at all. Reality felt wrong. The world around him should not be as it was. There was a hole in his heart; a never ending vortex of pure despair.

Outside, the birds were chirping. The sun had made one of its brief appearances. It was beyond hateful in the eyes of the two residents at 221b Baker Street. Neither decided to venture outside the flat.

The days shifted into weeks. The only significant thing was Sherlock's funeral. There were all sorts of people there. To Harry's right sat John. To his left was Hermione and her parents.

She kept a firm arm around him. While outwardly miserable, Harry was infinitely grateful that Hermione stuck with him, even through the madness with Moriarty. Harry felt that through it, he cherished Hermione all the more.

 **Back on the rooftop, the day of Sherlock's death…**

" _God please… don't," Harry croaked._

" _Goodbye, Mr. Holmes," Moriarty said._

Sherlock stepped off the ledge. He felt the wind rush past his curly locks. He resisted the temptation to scream. If he was going to 'die', he was going to do it with dignity. Hopefully, Dumbledore would do his job.

Suddenly, it felt as if a bungee cord was attached to his lower back. His momentum slowed until he touched down. He brushed himself off and looked at the wizened old man smiling.

"I assume you have some sort of enchantment that will make it look as if I wasn't just rescued by magic?" Sherlock asked. Dumbledore nodded.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes. To everyone but us and your dear brother, you just fell to your death. I nor Remus were able to save you. Welcome to the world of ghosts, Mr. Holmes. Shall we get to work?" he said. Sherlock looked up at the rooftop, then back at Dumbledore.

"After you, Professor."


End file.
